Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stiles took a deep breath. He didn’t know why he felt so nervous; he’d been working towards this moment his entire life.

Boy’s soccer had not been kind to him when he was younger and high school lacrosse led to many games bench warming, but even so, he spent years learning everything he could about the sports industry properly.

He wasn’t a player – no, but always had a childhood dream of working in the background of professional sports, and years of subpar performance as a player did nothing to put him off the idea.

His dad had been so proud when he graduated back in May. At first his dad didn’t understand what a Bachelor’s in Sports Management could do. They had many late nights where Stiles attempted to convince his dad that it was a lucrative career choice, filled with a multitude of opportunities.

The Sheriff wasn’t so convinced, but was on the verge of tears when Stiles walked across the stage to accept his diploma regardless.

Almost immediately after, Stiles hit the jackpot when he heard back from Beacon Hills’ professional baseball team, the Wolves. A majority of his job hunting had included applications to small community sports teams, schools, and colleges.

He had only applied to the Major League Baseball team after being goaded on by Scott.

“You never know! You’re totally qualified!” His best friend had screamed at him.

It was an entry-level position, nothing fancy – not that Stiles would expect to be handed a top tier position right out of college. Hell, he hadn’t really expected to be handed an any-level position.

Yet here he was. Standing in front of the huge and luxurious entrance to the front offices of the Beacon Hills Wolves – a major league team. A real major league team.

It was daunting, to say the least, to watch all the professionally dressed career men and women walking into the entrance with ease – like they did it every day. Which they do. He reminded himself.

He took another deep breath and looked down at his watch: 7:52am. He didn’t want to be late. He heaved the heavy glass doors open and walked towards the front desk.

The woman sitting there was blonde, her lips a candy apple red. She was beautiful. She looked up expectantly. Stiles had thought she would be bubbly and kind, but her smile was like razors.

“Can I help you?” She smirked when Stiles said nothing. He extended a hand.

“I’m Stiles,” She looked down at it, a little confused. Eventually she chuckled and shook his hand roughly.

“Erica, front desk and security.” She shook her head from side to side, “First day?” She cocked an eyebrow and Stiles shrugged his shoulders, smiling awkwardly. She must’ve taken that as a yes because she continued, “Alright sweetheart, I’m gonna need a driver’s license and which department you’re joining.”

Stiles dug in his bag and finally placed his wallet. He handed her his ID and took a moment to notice the employees using fobs to access the doors around him. He’d get an actual fob, for the offices of the Beacon Hills Wolves! He started buzzing with the excitement of it all and willed himself not to appear too over-eager.

“Department?” Erica asked again, her smile turned teasing.

“Oh! Uh, sorry. I’m the new Administrative Assistant for Baseball Operations.” He stuttered out, Erica raised both eyebrows then in surprise. She looked impressed.

“And here I thought you were the new ticket sales intern. Look at you.” She handed him back his ID and temporary badge. “You’ll head down that hallway and to the right for Orientation, you’ll meet the rest of your department after.” Stiles nodded, feeling a little pride at having proved himself to be more than meets the eye.

He started down the hall when Erica spoke back up, “Hey Stiles,” He turned around and she was wearing a deadly grin, “Don’t let those boys eat you alive. They’re Wolves after all.” She winked and waved him off.

He swallowed a lump in his throat and urged his feet forward. He could totally do this.

Orientation was pretty standard. He had to fill out all the necessary paperwork and listen to Human Resources speak about the usual policies you’d find in any workplace.

His favorite part had been the team introduction video. Stiles knew a lot about baseball, his dad had been taking him to games at the Wolves’ ballpark since he was a kid. Though he had to admit he wasn’t as knowledgeable as he should have been on all the current members of the team, but professional baseball was filled with trades and roster changes.

It was difficult to keep up.

He only really knew the big shots of the team, the ones who made all the headlines:

Isaac Lahey – the youngest (and most talented) pitcher to ever join the Beacon Hills Wolves.

Jackson Whittemore – notorious bad boy. If he hadn’t been responsible for most of the team’s home runs last season, Stiles is sure they would’ve tossed him aside. Whittemore also happened to be responsible for most of the money paid to Public Relations last season due to his recklessness and bad attitude.

Vernon Boyd – despite his large stature, Boyd was the team’s second baseman. Stiles had no idea how someone with such impressive muscles possessed the agility and grace to pivot on second base.

Jordan Parrish – he’d received multiple contracts from other teams but always declined. He was talented, handsome, and was the most tenured player on the team. Stiles could only guess why he was so adamant to stay even though he could’ve pursued better offers.

Danny Mahealani – Out and proud shortstop. Stiles had read many articles about Danny and his experience as an out homosexual in a major league team. As far as Stiles could tell, his teammates were all pretty supportive – yet another reason to be a huge fan of the Wolves, in his opinion.

Of course there was also Peter Tate – the team’s manager. He was ruthless, mean, and a total dog according to all the juicy tabloids covering his kitchen counter, if you believe those types of magazines, that is.

And last but certainly not least, was Derek Hale – the team’s All-Star player. There wasn’t a single position that Derek Hale couldn’t play, and play well. He was a fan-favorite, a team favorite, and a should-be all around media grace for the team. The only problem was Derek wasn’t the type to engage in publicity. He was known for being particularly closed-off and difficult to work with. He never smiled in photos or interviews and the only reason he never came across as rude or impolite was that he was Drop. Dead. Gorgeous. Any interviewer was simply too star-struck to notice that he was being less-than engaging. Stiles would never admit it, but he’d once had a bit of a crush on him as well.

When Derek’s sour face appeared on the video, a few hushed words could be heard amongst the new hires. A group of women giggled to each other as more shots of Derek filled the screen. Stiles felt his own heart skip a beat when a shot appeared of a shirtless Derek, sweat dripping from his face as he turned slowly to the camera. When he realized he was being recorded, he turned and walked in the other direction. Stiles could kick himself.

You are not just any fan, Stiles, you work here now. Get it together! He reminded himself roughly.

After Orientation was over, they were all introduced to their departments. Stiles had met a really nice woman named Kira during Orientation and was disappointed to find out that she was working on an entirely different floor.

“I’m sure our departments work together sometimes!” She waved as she walked into the elevator to head to the sixth floor. Stiles’ new office was on the first floor, right next to the field.

When he walked in, the floor to ceiling windows showcased the field in all its glory. They were right behind home plate; he’d never seen a view this good – and this was his place of work.

The kind man from HR, Mason, was explaining to him where the bathrooms and break rooms could be found before heading towards his new desk.

“This is where you’ll set up shop. Our extension is 2325 so feel free to call us if you need anything!” Mason clapped Stiles on the back before turning on his heels and heading out.

Stiles had but a moment to wonder what to do next before someone was approaching him with a wide smile.

“You must be Stiles!” She exclaimed, reaching out a hand for him to shake. “I’m Allison, your Manager of Baseball Operations.”

Stiles shook her hand firmly. “Stiles – well you knew that.” He chuckled nervously and she giggled at him.

“Yes, let me show you around and introduce you to some of the people you’ll be working with.”

Allison took him around the office, introducing him to so many people; he held no hope that he’d be able to remember anybody. The only familiar face was Chris Argent, the Vice President of Baseball Operations – and the person who had interviewed and hired him.

“Hello again, Mr. Argent.” Stiles shook his hand politely.

“Please Stiles, call me Chris.” Chris beamed at him and Stiles fought not to blush. Chris was older but he was kind and handsome too. “I’m actually glad you’re both here, we have a meeting in five with Public Relations.” Allison checked her phone and looked at him curiously. “It wasn’t planned, I just got off the phone with them.”

Allison sighed but nodded her head curtly. “I’ll cancel my twelve o’clock.” She began tapping at her phone.

“You need me there?” Stiles clarified, he felt like his hands were too empty, having dropped his bag at his desk. Chris nodded and he led them all down the hallway.

“I think it would be good for you to sit in, learn how we work with other departments.” Stiles was nodding in agreement but wished he had a notebook or something to take notes with, but there wasn’t time to stop and grab one.

When they made it to the grand meeting room, several people were already there. It seemed they were all typing away urgently at their phones, annoyed to be dragged there in the middle of the workday. Stiles spotted Kira and he sent her a small wave, which she returned with a grin.

“Thank you all for taking the time out to be here.” Stiles turned towards the loud, commanding voice and found it belonged to a redheaded woman. She oozed authority and her peach lipstick matched her sharp nails perfectly. The way everyone immediately gave her their attention led Stiles to believe that this woman was not one to be messed with.

“For those of you who are new, welcome. I’m Lydia Martin, Vice President of Public and Media Relations.” Lydia took a moment to look around the room, Stiles wasn’t sure if she was attempting to place the newbies or if she was simply making sure she had everyone’s undivided attention. “As most of you know, Season is about to start. We’re weeks into Spring Training and none of our boys have spent even five minutes with the press.”

A man scoffed and everyone’s eyes were drawn to the other end of the long, oval shaped table. Stiles recognized the man immediately as none other than Peter Tate; he had a millisecond to be star-struck before the man was speaking his piece.

“They are a little busy, Lydia,” The drawn-out way he’d said her name made Stiles think there was a history there. The murderous look to Lydia’s eyes removed any suspicion that this history was sexy by any means.

In fact, Stiles was positive they were archenemies.

“Peter, dear, I didn’t realize you were back from your long weekend in Vegas.” Lydia’s tone was pleasant and thick with a false kindness.

“Oh Lydia, I’m happy that I didn’t miss another of your very important meetings.” Peter quipped back and the air was full of electricity. “Got back this morning.”

“I’m surprised your suit looks well-tailored, as opposed to the last time you waltzed in here looking like –” Mason from HR coughed pointedly, Lydia shook her perfectly curled hair and regained her composure. “Regardless, I understand the players are busy, but last Season did not go well for us. We hit a losing streak, fought multiple scandals thanks to a certain player that I need not mention,” Coughs were heard around the room, and Stiles caught Peter rolling his eyes. “Now our sales numbers are dropping at an alarming pace, at this rate, opening day won’t sell out.”

Stiles looked around and everyone seemed to be in agreement, even Peter was raising his eyebrows, considering. “That’s not happened in years.” Peter stated, surprisingly in a non-confrontational manner.

“Exactly. Give me a player. Sports Illustrated wants a spread.” Lydia crossed her arms menacingly.

“Fine. Take Lahey. He doesn’t need the practice.” Peter huffed, annoyed.

“Lahey won’t cut it. This will be our first announcement for the new Season, we were thinking bigger.” Lydia narrowed her eyes.

“Hale won’t agree to it.” Peter shrugged his shoulders pointedly.

“Not only that, but we’ve run out of Player Ambassadors willing to work with him.” Chris spoke up. “Or rather, ran out of ones that he’ll work with.”

The room murmured in solemn agreement.

“You have a new hire right there.” Lydia pointed to Stiles, and he felt like a deer in headlights. Suddenly, the whole room was staring at him – some in pity and the others in question. Stiles’ heart stopped. He wasn’t a Player Ambassador; he couldn’t force a player to be agreeable – certainly not Derek freaking Hale.

“He’s not a Player Ambassador. He’s our new Administrative Assistant.” Chris explained and Stiles had the urge to hug him – though he’d just sat through an hour of sexual harassment in the workplace and so refrained.

“Well maybe that will work in Stiles’ favor, Hale obviously has a tough time working with trained Ambassadors. Perhaps someone a little less qualified and down-to-earth would work?” Allison spoke up and Stiles had to fight not to glance at her in betrayal. NO. NO. NO.

He was glancing around the room for help, but this was his first day – he had no allies here. He made eye contact with Peter Tate, who was sneering mischievously. “Works by me.” Tate replied.

“Then it’s decided.” Lydia clapped her hands together. Meet me in the lobby tomorrow at seven sharp – Chris will give you all the details. Peter, I want Derek in the car ready to head out those front doors seven fifteen. You hear me. Meeting adjourned.”

A roar of conversation erupted as everyone headed out the meeting room doors. Chris and Allison were speaking quickly as they rose out of their seats to head back to work. Stiles realized dully that they were speaking quickly about him and how to prepare him for tomorrow’s duties.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and jumped at the touch. He turned in the chair to find Peter Tate staring at him hungrily.

“Peter.” He introduced himself.

“Uh… Stiles.” He wanted to reach out his hand but the angle would’ve made it too awkward. He’d never really understood how Tate was known as such a womanizer. In pictures online, Stiles never really found him particularly attractive. But as the man leaned over him, eyes trailing down Stiles' face and torso, Stiles was beginning to understand.

Peter Tate’s presence was intense, his eyes a cold blue. Stiles wondered if Peter was bisexual or if he just appeared to be coming on to every person he met by accident.

“Hmm.” Peter hummed, “Don’t let Hale eat you alive.” He gave a half smirk before he promptly walked away.

The line felt familiar and he realized it was the second time he’d received the warning.

He looked over at Allison and Chris standing by the door waiting for him. They both looked apologetic.

“Come on Stiles, we’ve got a lot to go over.”

Chapter Text

Stiles was usually a morning person. In fact, when he was in college, he would defy the stereotype that students were lazy and picked afternoon and night classes on purpose in order to sleep until mid-afternoon. He always chose the 6:00am classes.

This particular morning, however, his stomach was doing somersaults and his head was spinning. It was 5:45am and Stiles was sitting at his new, barren desk in the middle of a completely empty office.

Chris had told him not to be late – had put the fear of God in him. Well, actually, the fear of Lydia Martin in him.

This led him to show up at the office an entire hour and a half too early. He’d waited in the Lobby for a few minutes before Erica’s amused grin had made him feel uneasy – then he headed to his desk to wait pathetically without an audience.

Each minute passed like molasses. He felt wholly emotionally exhausted by the end of his waiting – his emotions had been rapidly changing as he thought about his task for the day.

I’m gonna meet Derek Hale! Excitement would bubble over, only to wash over him a second later in an icy realization of what that really meant. I’m gonna meet Derek Hale… The anxiety seeped out of his pores and he was happy to be alone so he could rub at his face harshly, attempting to erase his thoughts.

A low alarm coming from his phone made him jump. He grabbed a hold of it and the time felt like it was mocking him – 6:55am.

He grabbed his notes, flipping through the pages that Chris had given him on what a Player Ambassador was primarily responsible for on a day like today.

He walked into the lobby and could see Lydia already standing there waiting, her perfectly manicured fingers typing away at her phone – probably taking care of something hugely important and pressing.

Stiles coughed lightly and spoke up to get her attention.

“Uh – Hi, Ms. Martin.” Lydia looked up in a bored manner and then appeared to check her watch.

“You’re early. Wonderful.” She regarded before reaching out to her assistant, who placed a binder into her hand. She shoved it in Stiles’ direction and he rushed to grab it from her. “This is a comprehensive guide to Derek Hale’s involvement with the press. You’ll find pre-approved questions for today’s spread at the very beginning, and towards the back you’ll be able to see everything that Derek refuses to speak about in any interviews. We respect our Player’s privacy.”

Stiles began flipping through the pages, there was a ton of information and to say that he felt overwhelmed would be quite the understatement. He looked back up to Lydia and she was wearing a knowing expression.

“Don’t fret. We’ve been doing these spreads with Sports Illustrated for years, they always give us the same interviewer and he knows the rules – you won’t have to interject at all.” Lydia’s words were soothing, even though her tone was neither gentle nor kind.

Her assistant spoke then, “Car’s here.” Lydia looked out the doors and smiled wickedly, Stiles checked his phone: 7:00am on the dot.

“So Tate knows what’s good for him after all.” She sneered. As if on queue, Peter Tate hopped out of the back of the huge, black SUV. He was still speaking to the other passenger, leaning into the car to finish his thought.

Lydia led the way outside to approach him. Stiles caught on to Peter’s last few words: “Hale, I’m being serious – don’t fuck this up. Otherwise I’m the fucking one who has to hear about it from Martin.”

“Peter.” Lydia interrupted in greeting, her tone amused.

“Speak of the Devil.” Peter didn’t even jump or act, at all, like he’d been caught out. He was perfectly calm.

Lydia huffed a laugh and turned one last time to Stiles. “Have fun.” She turned back on Peter, “You – with me. I have to run some things by you.” Lydia turned on her heels and walked back inside, not bothering to check and make sure that Peter was following her.

Stiles found himself looking to Peter, who he caught rolling his eyes before meeting Stiles’ gaze. Instantly Peter’s eyes turned teasing and sexy – Peter allowed his eyes to scan lazily and unapologetically down Stiles’ body. It made Stiles fidget a little with the hem of his shirt.

“Stiles.” Peter said simply and somehow the coolness of his words made Stiles feel even more scrutinized.

“Uh. Hi – uh, good morning.” Stiles tripped over his own words slightly and Peter smirked like a wolf watching its’ defenseless prey. Stiles hated how much he kind of liked that.

Peter took a step forward and placed his large hand over Stiles’ stomach and curled it around his hip, in order to lean in and whisper into his ear.

“Morning. Watch out for that one in there – he bites.” Stiles felt Peter chuckle before he was left alone outside, hands full of paper and totally clueless as to what had just happened (and why the hell he felt just the slightest bit turned on by it).

Stiles looked behind him to see Peter walking through the lobby towards the elevators. Undoubtedly, heading straight to Lydia’s office.

Before he had the chance to wonder if what just happened fell under the category of sexual harassment in the workplace, he noticed the open car door in front of him, and the shadow of a man waiting impatiently for Stiles to get in.

He knew there was no getting out of this, and no time for hesitation – so he just entered the car and closed the door with a slam, attempting for it to look like he was confident and knew what he was doing.

Only, when the door slammed shut, it hit the stack of papers and binder he was holding haphazardly in his right arm, leading him to drop them all over the interior of the car.

He began hastily picking them up off the floor of the backseat as the car began moving. When he’d gathered all of them up, he realized he was missing the cover sheet of a Player Ambassador’s job responsibilities and for the first time, he looked to his left at the man sitting next to him.

Derek Hale was beautiful in photos, but he was absolutely unreal in person. Derek had let his beard grow out slightly during Spring Training. In the photos Stiles had seen from not too long ago, Derek had been sporting just a bit of stubble. His hair looked soft to the touch and his skin was an airbrushed, tan color from all his time spent outdoors. He was wearing a suit but it was tailored to be on the tight side and Stiles could see his hard-worked-for muscles beneath the expensive fabric of his shirt. His eyes were a moss green, stunning even as he looked sharply in Stiles’ direction.

After too long a moment, Stiles noticed that the cover sheet was being held in Derek’s strong hands. Without thinking, his brain on autopilot, he reached out and plucked the paper from Derek – who raised one eyebrow in response.

“Thanks – thank you for picking it… uh, up.” Stiles tried to speak calmly but he was stuttering embarrassingly. When Derek didn’t respond but kept on staring, Stiles spoke up again, “Hello, I’m Stiles. I’ll be uhm, here with you today for support.” Derek’s eyebrows rose even further. “Not that you need support – I mean, you’ve been doing this a long time.” Stiles laughed awkwardly.

Derek’s gaze finally averted from Stiles, but only for a moment to glance in the direction of the papers stacked in an unorganized pile on Stiles’ lap.

“Is this your first day?” Stiles couldn’t say for sure if Derek was implying something rude with his words. His tone was harsh, but also bored, and Stiles was having a hard time deciphering Derek’s true meaning behind them.

“First day?” Stiles scoffed, “You think they’d send someone on their first day to escort the Derek Hale to an interview?” Stiles began chuckling forcibly and one look at Derek was all it took for Stiles to know that he was being way less than convincing. “No, it’s my… second day.” Stiles breathed out and Derek huffed before turning to ignore him completely.

A smarter man might’ve allowed himself to be ignored, but Stiles couldn’t stand the silence.

“They told me you don’t like working with Theo, so uhm, so I’m here.” Chris and Allison had told him how Theo was their best and most experienced Player Ambassador – he’d worked with some of the biggest names in Major League Baseball. Yet, for whatever reason, Derek had refused to work with him again after only one interview.

Derek’s head snapped around and he leveled Stiles with a nasty look. “Theo’s an idiot.”

“Right.” Stiles replied dumbly, and Derek just turned back to the window. It was going to be a long day.

The long drive to the studio was an awkward one. Stiles began flipping through the binder given to him by Lydia. He was carefully reading the off-limit topics in particular, worried he might have to interject – though Lydia told him it was unlikely.

Derek Hale has the right to refuse to answer any questions regarding his family and/or the infamous house fire from his youth.

Stiles chanced a glance in Derek’s direction; he was looking away still. Stiles knew all about the house fire that killed almost all of Derek Hale’s family. He only had his two sisters left. Stiles had always wondered why he never saw any articles of Derek commenting on the tragedy. Not that Stiles could blame him for not wanting to talk about it.

Derek Hale has the right to refuse to make comments on his sexuality or the sexuality of his teammates.

Stiles wondered idly how many times interviewers had tried to get juicy gossip about Danny Mahealani from the rest of the team, and felt angry, himself, about the prospect.

When they arrived, Derek’s car door was being opened for him and Stiles made the decision to just scoot in the seat to exit from the same door. The driver gave him an odd look but said nothing. Stiles rushed to catch up with Derek, who was speed walking towards the lobby of the Studio.

“Uh, says here – Studio 2B.” Stiles read from his papers; Derek said nothing in reply. He just began walking towards the hallways behind the receptionist desk and Stiles had to assume Derek knew where he was going. Stiles also had to wave apologetically at the lobby receptionist who was gaping at being ignored. Even so, the recognition of who Derek was granted them access, and no one moved to stop them from heading right into the Studio.

Stiles felt a little struck by how grand everything was. It looked exactly how Stiles imagined a movie or TV Studio would look. There were people everywhere, a flurry of busy movement, and wires, and lights.

A tall, gorgeous woman with long, dirty blonde hair approached. Her eyes were dark and seductive as she took Derek in.

“Well hello handsome. I’m Kate, I’ll be interviewing you today.” She put her hand out and Derek pointedly ignored it. Her smile faded slightly, but Stiles spoke up before the uncomfortable interaction could continue.

“I thought our interviewer was…” Stiles looked down at his papers, “Tom? Tom is our usual interviewer with Sports Illustrated.” Stiles tried desperately to sound sure, and not like he’d only just learned the information this morning.

The woman narrowed her eyes at him like he was a nuisance, her face twisted as she looked down on him. “Tommy’s out today – has the flu. I’m filling in for his appointments.” Stiles nodded his head but his mind began to race. What if she doesn’t know the rules? He thought in a panic, but he forced himself to calm down, no way would they not make their replacements aware of the guidelines. He let it go.

Kate placed a hand on Derek’s lower back, and Derek glared at her in response. She feigned ignorance and began leading him to where a couch and chair were placed perfectly in front of a pretty lilac-colored backdrop. The artificial stage lighting somehow made Derek look even more beautiful. Stiles thought to himself that usually someone shouldn’t look this good until after they’d been photo-shopped.

They started the interview, and Stiles found himself a seat near the cameraman – wanting to be close by in case Derek needed anything. Not that Stiles expected Derek to actually ask him for anything.

Stiles found himself disgusted with the interviewer. Her sickly sweet articulation and flirtatious body language were starting to grate on his nerves. He tried to shake himself out of it, he had no right to be commenting on the process of an interview – he was completely out of his depth here. However, it was hard not to notice the way Derek would cringe backward every time she attempted to lean her chest into him or place a hand on his thigh. Derek was uncomfortable too.

“So Derek, with your career going so well – your sisters must be proud.” Kate drawled and Stiles stopped breathing.

“They are.” Derek answered quickly, his tone final – indicating that that was all he was going to say on the matter. Stiles waited, holding his breath, hoping Kate would take the hint and move on.

“Do you think your mom would’ve been equally as proud?” Stiles stood up from his chair in an instant, the legs of it scratched against the floor creating an obscene screeching sound that demanded everyone’s attention.

It hadn’t been Stiles intention to cause such a noise – though he was not sure what exactly he had been planning to do.

“Move on to the next question please.” Stiles spoke loudly into the quiet. For a brief moment, Stiles felt confident in the words, thinking to himself that this is what a Player Ambassador is supposed to do. Why else would he have this huge binder full of guidelines to follow? However, that moment had been brief due to the way everyone was staring at him now.

Kate was seething – her face an ugly, warped image of what she really looked like. The cameraman sitting next to him was staring at him in shock – like he’d not even understood what Stiles was doing there in the first place and was stunned to see Stiles interrupt the interview like he had a right to do so. Stiles looked to Derek then, and what he saw made him feel the slightest bit better.

Derek looked impressed. His eyebrows were raised high on his forehead and though his mouth was in its usual frown – his eyes were wide and shining. Derek turned his attention back to Kate then, his expression challenging – like he was daring her to try and ignore what Stiles had just said. She didn’t.

Fifteen minutes passed with no issues.

Stiles almost found himself relaxing, for the first time since the day began. Kate had eased up a bit – evidently feeling the slightest bit ashamed for having been called out for her insensitive question. At least, that’s what Stiles had thought.

Until –

“How’s your relationship with Danny Mahealani?” Kate was looking at Derek from beneath her eyelashes.

Derek didn’t appear to be buying into it at all, “I get along with all my teammates.” He was narrowing his eyes at her in an insolent manner.

“Well, yes, but have you faced any struggles with Danny in particular?” She pressed; Stiles could see even the crew flinching at the way the question was being phrased.

“Why would I?” Derek snapped back, quick as anything.

“Well, because of his precarious situation.” Stiles’ mouth dropped, he had a second to wonder how an interviewer could be so unaware of how they were sounding. Derek seemed to be thinking the same thing.

Before Stiles could interpose for a second time, Derek was standing and walking out of the Studio. Leaving a perplexed and ignorant Kate in his dust.

Stiles didn’t have to be a trained Player Ambassador to know that this was heading south – and fast. He also didn’t have to be a trained Player Ambassador to know that if Derek didn’t finish this interview, Lydia was sure to destroy him.

For those reasons, Stiles found himself running after a very irate-looking Derek Hale. Though even once he caught up with him, he had absolutely no idea what to say.

He wondered what Theo would do, but shook that thought off almost immediately, remembering just how much Derek hated him.

“Hey… uh –” Stiles words were cut off as he slammed into the hard wall that was Derek Hale’s back. It seemed he’d decided to stop speed walking away; only Stiles hadn’t gotten the memo in time to stop as well.

Stiles fell backward onto his ass and landed with a pathetic little oof.

He looked up at Derek to find him staring at him in annoyance. Which was rude, considering Stiles was the one who actually hurt himself.

“Any chance you’d consider going back just because, otherwise, I’ll get eaten alive by Lydia Martin?” Stiles asked in a whiny tone.

Derek put his hands on his hips in a dramatic sort of defiance, and somehow Stiles just knew he wasn’t going to win this that easily.

It struck him then, just how lucky he might consider Theo for the simple fact that he didn’t have to be here now: sat on the floor wondering how the hell he could manage to get Derek Hale to cooperate.

He was so, so out of his depth.

Chapter Text

Stiles scrambled to get back on his feet again – with absolutely no help from Derek. Derek, who was still staring at him in utter defiance, with a tinge of hatred as if Stiles was the one who had caused offense.

“Look. I totally respect your decision here and I’m with you 100%, she’s totally out of line.” Derek huffed in agreement and Stiles felt the slightest bit of confidence that he was actually being listened to. “But if you walk out now – they are going to paint you as some kind of diva. Don’t give her the satisfaction.” Stiles caught himself trying to reach out but stopped himself before he grabbed Derek’s arm.

“I don’t give a fuck what I’m painted as.” Derek replied coldly and Stiles threw his hands up in exasperation.

“Can’t you just go back in there and make a statement about how much you support Danny? Rather than refusing to talk about it at all? Fuck her and her homophobia – who gives a shit.” Stiles huffed out a breath when he was done. He was afraid for a minute when Derek remained silent – maybe he’d gone too far.  

But Derek didn’t look angry, just curious. Maybe even… considering. Ultimately, Derek just turned himself around and began walking away again. Stiles felt defeated – he had tried so hard.

Stiles took off after him again but stopped short when he witnessed a young boy running up to Derek once the two made it outside.

The boy couldn’t have been more than eight years old – and Stiles dreaded what an irritated Derek Hale might say to an intrusive, young fan.

“Derek Hale! I’m your biggest fan. I’m going to be as famous as you one day and we are going to play on the same team. It’s going to happen. I’m working really hard for it. Can I have your autograph please? Please?” Stiles placed a hand on his face in concern. This kid was almost as hyperactive as Stiles, himself, had been when he was younger.

Stiles also remembered how many times he’d been snapped at by adults for being so endlessly annoying.

He waited with bated breath for the equally rude comments to come out of Derek Hale’s mouth… Poor kid.

“You got a ball?” Derek spoke with a kindness that Stiles had yet to hear out of the man the entire day.

The kid nodded excitedly and pulled his backpack off with incredible speed. He dug in it for a moment before finding a beat-up, dirt-covered baseball. Stiles watched in astonishment as Derek pulled out a sharpie from his deep, back pockets.

Derek lowered himself on one knee to be level with the kid and took the ball out of his hands to sign it.

“Don’t ever give up, yeah? People will tell you that it’s too hard, or that you need to focus on something more serious, but they don’t know what they’re talking about. The greatest players are the ones that didn’t listen to all the statistics telling them how slight of a chance they had to make it big.” The kid was nodding his head animatedly, his eyes wide and forcing himself to pay attention to his hero’s words.

Derek gave the ball back and stood up straight again. He ruffled the kid’s hair and the kid beamed and ran back to his dad who was standing a few feet away – not wanting to interrupt the moment.

When the kid made it back to his dad, he turned to Derek once more to wave goodbye enthusiastically. Stiles watched a smile spread across Derek’s face as he waved back. It was an incredible sight to behold. Derek’s smile was… indescribable.

Stiles was flabbergasted as Derek turned to face him, his face as stoic as before.

“What?” Derek snapped and that was when Stiles realized he was standing there with his mouth agape like an ugly fish.

“Nu… Nothing. Are you coming back?” Stiles chanced. Derek sighed loudly and shrugged his shoulders.

“Fine.” They walked back inside.

The rest of the interview went off without a hitch. Well… as without a hitch as Stiles could hope for with the terrible interviewer they got stuck with. Though even Kate seemed to have learned her lesson – having almost ruined the interview with her prejudices.

After the interview was done, the two of them were led to separate area of the Studio. One that was set up for a photo shoot. Stiles hadn’t realized this was going to be a part of the agenda.

He found another chair near the photographer and prayed that there would be nothing about this part of the spread that would call for Stiles to interject.

Stiles checked his phone as they took Derek to a dressing room. He had a few texts from Scott:

Scotty 8:02 AM: How’s it going??

Scotty 8:57 AM: Dude. Answer.

Scotty 9:17 AM: Oh… I get it, ur too cool now cuz you hang out with THE Derek Hale.

Stiles rolled his eyes and regretted telling Scott what had happened on his first day of work. He was typing a sassy response when the photographer made a noise of approval at Derek returning to the shoot.

Stiles looked towards the backdrop and saw Derek standing there in his uniform pants and cleats – but completely shirtless.

They must’ve done some kind of oiling up because Derek’s muscled torso was glistening tantalizingly from the bright photo shoot lights.

Stiles could feel his ugly fish face come back in full force as his mouth was dropped in an embarrassing expression. And though he knew he was doing it – he couldn’t seem to stop.

Derek didn’t look uncomfortable, though he didn’t exactly look completely at home in front of the camera either. He was simply indifferent.

Just like in the movies, the photographer requested they put on some music to set the mood as he screamed out direction for the shoot.

They ended up putting on a David Guetta album, one that Stiles had listened to multiple times.

After a few songs’ worth of poses, Stiles was feeling a little… on edge. There was a reason Derek Hale was able to get away with his bad attitude. Stiles already knew why but damn if it wasn’t a different thing to see it in person for himself. Derek was a God among men.

The way his muscles reacted with every move – the way he looked holding a bat, tipping his ballcap down in a seductive manner. Stiles was attempting to force himself to look away. He wasn’t succeeding.

Stiles recognized his favorite song off the album – Dangerous. He hoped the familiar beats would ease his nerves.

Suddenly, Derek’s eyes met his own and Stiles’ heart sank into his stomach. Stiles could’ve been imagining it, but he felt like Derek was staring right at him. Stiles felt his face flushing – as if Derek could tell he’d been shamelessly checking him out.

Stiles averted his gaze and started rubbing the back of his neck before pretending to rummage through all the papers he was still holding in his lap. He chanced one more glance in Derek’s direction and found Derek with one eyebrow cocked and a smirk on his face.

Stiles told himself that he’d simply missed the photographer requesting Derek to make such an expression. Stiles coughed awkwardly into his hand before going over his papers once more.

When all was said and done, they headed out. The same car from before picked them up out front and they headed towards the office.

Stiles didn’t dare make a comment about the day. He snuck a quick look at Derek and found that the man was looking in his direction.

It made Stiles feel like he ought to say something.

“Uh. I hope that I… well that I did a good job.” Stiles physically facepalmed at his own words, no doubt turning bright red once again. “I mean that… I hope that you feel okay about today. Yeah.” Stiles finished and looked away to save face.

When they made it to the office, Stiles unbuckled his seat belt and put his hand on the door handle. He noticed that Derek wasn’t making any moves to leave the car and remembered that Derek had probably been picked up from home.

“Well… Bye.” Stiles pulled open the door, only to have a hand grab lightly at his arm, stopping him from exiting.

Stiles looked at Derek in surprise.

“You did a good job.” Derek grunted before facing forward again, nonchalant, as if he’d said nothing.

“Uh. Thank you… You, you too.” Stiles stuttered out before tripping his way out of the car. Before shutting the car door, he noticed Derek giving him an odd look.

The SUV took off. Leaving Stiles in incredulousness, thinking over the entire day in wonder.  

Huh.

Chapter Text

A couple of days passed, and Stiles finally felt like he could breathe again. He’d half expected to come in to work the next day and feel the wrath of Lydia Martin – even if Derek had finished the interview.

By the end of the week, he’d felt like he’d completely gotten through the unfortunate circumstances of his becoming a Player Ambassador.

Though, a part of him was slightly disappointed to know that his contact with Derek Hale would probably be limited in his actual position. But he should be thankful for that. It’s not like he wanted to be around Derek more.

Regardless… he felt good.

That was until he received a calendar invite to report to an emergency PR meeting.

He got up from his desk slowly and could see Allison and Chris walking towards him frantically.

“Did you get the invite?” Allison asked as they approached.

“Yes.”

“Did anything happen that we need to know about before the meeting?” Chris asked, his expression concerned. Stiles felt content knowing that his boss had his back.

“No, like I told you guys earlier this week, it was fine.”

“Alright, come on. Don’t want to be late.” Allison hurried them down the hall.

When they made it to the same grand meeting room as before, they all took their seats. Stiles looked to the end where he knew Peter Tate would be sitting. Surprisingly, Peter was already looking in his direction. Stiles smiled at him politely and Peter smirked and winked flirtatiously in response. Stiles looked away quickly, flushing slightly.

“Good morning everyone.” Lydia’s powerful voice silenced the room. “First things first, the Sports Illustrated spread is beautiful. We just approved everything this morning. It hits the shelves in two weeks, so job very well done there.” Everyone in the room clapped and Lydia briefly made eye contact with Stiles to smile approvingly in his direction.

It made him relax considerably, as well as feel pride swell in his heart as he was complimented by someone as high up as Lydia.

“Yes. Thank you everyone. Now, for the real reason that we’ve called this meeting. FOX Sports is holding a conference in L.A. this weekend. They are requesting an exclusive autograph session from the Beacon Hills Wolves. Peter and I have already connected on this matter. We are both in agreement on the benefits of attending this event. Isn’t that right, Peter?” Lydia deferred to him. Though Stiles caught Peter’s wicked expression and knew this had not been as simple of an agreement as Lydia was painting it to be.

“Of course, Lydia. After all, it’s only a couple of nights in L.A.. What could possibly go wrong?” Peter sneered, but continued, “We’ve agreed to part with Hale, as well as Lahey, Boyd, Mahealani, Whittemore, and Parrish. Basically, all the top dogs – the players people would actually want autographs from.”

“Precisely.” Lydia beamed. Chris was jotting down notes anxiously next to him.

“Well, we can provide Theo for Whittemore and Boyd, they don’t seem to mind working with him. Liam can take care of Parrish and Lahey. We just hired a new Player Ambassador middle of the week but I’m sure he’d have no problem attending this weekend to assist Hale and Mahealani, his name’s Ethan.” Chris was speaking quickly – attempting to schedule on the spot since it was such short notice.

“Actually Chris, not to interrupt, but this sort of brings us to our next item on the agenda.” Chris’ head snapped up to meet Lydia’s eyes. Stiles, himself, waited curiously to see what she was going to say.

“Apparently, Derek Hale refuses to go this weekend unless…” Lydia closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh, appearing to feel ridiculous for the words she was being forced to speak next: “Unless Stiles here attends as his Player Ambassador.” The room fell silent and they all stared at him in perplexity.

Stiles, for his part, felt his jaw hit the floor. His heart raced and he was sure that his face was revealing his shock and excitement at hearing the news.

He took a moment to look in Peter’s direction – which was a huge mistake. Peter had his head cocked in heavy consideration. Once Stiles met his eyes, his grin grew wide like the Cheshire Cat.

“Wonderful.” Peter broke the silence, purring his words.

Oh fuck.

Chapter Text

Stiles was holding a collared shirt up to his body in the full-length mirrors that acted as his closet doors.

He felt ridiculous fussing about his wardrobe – knowing full well that there were bigger things to be worried about. Such as the fact that he was being forced, once again, to act as a Player Ambassador to Derek Hale.

“That one’s nice.” Scott regarded – not looking up from his phone.

“You didn’t even look Scott.” Stiles chided, sighing heavily before falling onto the bed next to his best friend. “What the fuck am I gonna do?” Stiles whined, burrowing his face in the pillows.

“What do you mean dude? Do you know how many people would kill for an opportunity like this? It’s gonna be awesome!” Stiles rolled his head until he could see Scott’s face in full view.

He gave Scott his best, deadpanned expression.

“Stiles. So what?? You find him attractive. Join the club honestly, I’m not even gay and I can tell he’s smokin’. No one cares.” Scott flicked at Stiles’ nose and Stiles swatted his hand away aggressively.

“It’s not just that man, he’s stubborn and difficult to work with – how am I going to get through an entire weekend full of interactions that I’m supposed to know how to monitor and correct? I’m a fucking admin assistant Scotty – I’m not trained for this.” Also, I think Peter Tate wants to fuck me. Though Stiles kept that part to himself. He felt rough hands shaking his shoulders.

“Dude. Relax. From what you told me, he already kind of likes you. It’ll be fineeee.” Scott lifted himself from the bed, pulling at Stiles’ hand to get him up as well. “Now stop fretting and feed me. You said you were gonna cook me something nice.”

Stiles got to his feet to follow Scott out of the room. He looked at his half packed duffle bag in displeasure, like it was taunting him. He sighed once more before ultimately accepting his fate.

He’d been doing that a lot lately.

Chapter Text

Stiles waited patiently as the crisp morning air whipped across his face. He’d had Scott drive him to the ballpark first thing, to board the luxury bus escorting the players and ambassadors to L.A..

Once again, he arrived entirely too early. Luckily, it being Saturday meant that Erica wasn’t there to look on and judge.

After what felt like a lifetime – the bus finally arrived. Stiles let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding at the sight of it.

The doors opened and Stiles moved quickly, desperate to escape the chilly air and to sit down on the comfortable seats. He was stopped short as someone was exiting the bus at the same time.

He was met by the impossibly icy blue eyes of one Peter Tate. Who – unlike a normal person – refused to take a step backward after realizing how close in proximity they found themselves on the bus steps.

“Stiles.” He leered, his composure sound and hair far too perfectly in place for so early in the morning.

“Morning.” Stiles responded, stepping back onto the curb to let Peter pass. Though Peter simply pressed forward a step so that they were still uncomfortably close.

Peter raised a hand to Stiles’ cheek – making his breath hitch in surprise. He used two fingers to grab something from right below Stiles’ right eye.

“Eyelash.” Peter breathed and Stiles could feel his face heating up. Just at that moment, the blinding lights of a large SUV illuminated the pair of them.

Peter looked towards the intrusion – irritation clear on his face. Stiles watched, a little dazed, as Derek and two other players exited the vehicle. Stiles recognized the two other players as they made their way over: Isaac Lahey and Danny Mahealani.

“Hey guys!” Isaac greeted excitedly. He smacked a hand on Peter’s shoulder as he went by – appearing to ignore the sour expression currently living on Peter’s face.

Stiles moved backwards a few more steps while Peter was distracted to give the men more room to enter. Danny regarded him with a small smile before saying his good-mornings to Peter and the bus driver.

Derek was the last to approach, his eyes fixed on Peter in his usual stoic, bored manner.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Derek spoke coldly, but still calm, causing Peter to shrug indifferently. Stiles didn’t miss the way Derek’s eyebrow quirked slightly in annoyance.

Derek turned to Stiles suddenly. “You coming?” He jerked his head towards the steps of the bus, where Peter was still blocking the way.

Stiles nodded and followed awkwardly as Derek led him around Peter – and into the bus.

The bus was spacious, and far more lavish than any coach Stiles had been on before for school field trips. Danny was leaning across two seats, his arm hanging lazily over the backs of the seats in front of him. Isaac had draped himself over the seats directly across from Danny and was stretching widely before letting his body take up all the available space.

They looked up when Derek and Stiles walked up the aisle.

“You’re Stiles, right? The new Player Ambassador?” Isaac put his hand out for Stiles to shake. “I’m Isaac.” Isaac beamed at him and Stiles returned it – unable to stop himself. Isaac’s boyish demeanor and kind eyes were calming and contagious.

“Hi – yes I know who you are. You’re… uh… good.” Isaac gave Stiles a teasing half-smirk and Danny let out a little huff of laughter at Stiles’ words as well. “Not that you didn’t… already… know that.” Stiles rubbed the back of his head – his face burning.

“Danny.” Danny interrupted Stiles putting his foot in his mouth.

“Hi.” Stiles let out simply and hurried along, sitting himself down at a window seat.

To his surprise, Derek sat down next to him. There was an entire bus and multiple rows of seats that would go unoccupied, even when the rest of players showed up – and yet Derek had felt it necessary to sit right there.

He swallowed down his nerves.

The rest of the bus filled without occasion and Stiles was grateful for it. There’d be a whole weekend full of introductions after all – at least, he assumed there would be.

Peter was the last to enter, even though he’d been the first picked up this morning. He was traveling up the aisle, counting heads like a school trip chaperone, before taking his seat towards the back.

Stiles couldn’t help his gaze wandering backwards, meeting Peter’s eyes. Peter smirked and made a motion for Stiles to join him in the back. He looked towards Derek, typing away on his cell, his legs spread and leaning against the chair in front of him.

There was no way to leave his seat without asking Derek to move. He looked back towards Peter and attempted a flippant motion to signal that he was unable to leave his seat – happy for the excuse. Peter narrowed his eyes but didn’t push it.

Stiles put his ear buds in as they set off, and he felt like he could finally relax.

An hour into the drive, Derek was dragged to the front of the bus by Parrish – who wanted to play a car charades game that, apparently, Derek held the winning streak for.

Stiles felt himself smile, watching the ridiculous road game, before a body filled the suddenly empty seat next to him.

“Hi!” Isaac chirped.

“Hey.” Stiles grinned warmly – Isaac radiated a kindness that was hard to ignore. “What’s up?”

Isaac shrugged minutely, “Nothing. Just wanted to chat I guess.” Isaac looked towards the ruckus being caused by his teammates. Even Stiles’ fellow Player Ambassadors were joining in on the fun. “Derek told me how you told off that interviewer at Sports Illustrated.”

Stiles’ head snapped towards Isaac and he looked at him curiously.

“Uhm… Yeah?” Stiles treaded carefully – not sure where the young player was going with this.

“Just… I know Derek can be an asshole but… I don’t know… thanks for giving a fuck, I guess. Most people don’t.” Stiles didn’t know how to respond. Isaac turned to face him again and brushed a shoulder against his.

“No problem.” Stiles let out. At that moment Derek looked back. Stiles raised a hand in a pathetic wave and Derek raised an impressive eyebrow and smirked before being dragged back into the game.

Stiles watched, mesmerized, as Derek let out a genuine laugh – his gorgeous head tilted back and his beautiful eyes shining.

Stiles was so fucked.

Chapter Text

Stiles got his first glimpse of what Scott had meant when he said that others would’ve killed for an opportunity like this when they rolled up to the grand hotel. Stiles had never stayed in a hotel anywhere near this fancy before and felt incredibly underdressed and wholly under qualified to be there.

Peter strolled up the aisle of the bus to exit before the players – Theo following after him. The duo made their way into the hotel lobby swiftly while the hotel staff unloaded everyone’s bags from below.

Stiles was still gaping at the hotel entrance when he felt a nudge on his shoulder. He looked up and Derek was standing, looking at Stiles expectantly. He shook himself out of it and stood as well to be the last to exit.

The lobby was somehow even larger on the inside than one would think possible based on the outside. The shiny marble floors reflected Stiles mediocrity right back to him when he looked down – so he tried not to look down.

All the players seemed to be going straight to the long and fully staffed concierge desk to check themselves in. Stiles saw that Theo had gone ahead and grabbed Whittemore and Boyd’s keys for them and wondered if he was meant to be doing the same. Before he could panic though, he spotted Derek at the desk being handed his key.

Suddenly Peter stood in front of him, holding up a room access key perfectly between two fingers.

“Your key.” Peter angled it towards him and Stiles grabbed it quickly.

“Uh… thanks.” Peter eyed him interestedly before continuing.

“Feel free to head upstairs and get settled but grab Ethan and meet me in my room before we head over to the convention center to go over the itinerary for today. Room 304 in about,” Peter checked his watch, “thirty minutes? Sound good?” Stiles nodded and Peter lingered for only a moment longer before sauntering off towards the elevators.

Stiles looked around for a moment and found Ethan, quickly filling him in on the plan of meeting upstairs. Stiles was silently grateful that Peter wasn’t requesting him on his own. He didn’t know if he could handle Peter’s blatant advances in such an intimate setting. Not that Stiles would ever go there… but… best not to tempt fate or his own libido as it were.

Stiles made his way to the elevators, riding the way up with Boyd. Stiles smiled at him in greeting but got no more than a curt nod in reply. They both got off on the third floor, and Stiles wondered if it was always practice to keep the players and ambassadors on the same floor together.

Stiles looked at the small envelope the key was snugly placed in and followed the arrows to room 307. When he entered, he was – not for the first time – awestruck. It was a gorgeous room: modern art hung on the walls above a large king bed, a huge 55 inch TV sat smack dab in front of it. He once again remembered Scott telling him to stop complaining – if only he could see this now.

By the time Stiles managed to stop freaking out about the extravagance of it all, and touching everything in the room just cause he could, he only had a few minutes left to change into the outfit he’d planned for the conference. He removed his comfy clothes that he’d sported for the bus ride over and replaced them with simple black pants and a white polo. He figured business casual was probably appropriate for the autograph session – he’d only be off to the side after all.

He double-checked his appearance in the mirror before leaving his room to make his way to room 304. He was about to knock when he decided to wait a few moments in case Ethan hadn’t showed up yet.

Sure enough, Ethan exited his room – across from Stiles’ own – less than a minute later and he thanked Stiles for waiting. Little did Ethan know, he’d really been doing it for himself. Stiles knocked twice and the door was pulled open.

Peter had evidently been in the middle of changing but opened up regardless – his dress shirt completely unbuttoned and revealing quite an impressive display underneath. He took a step back from the door, casual as anything and cocked his head in a motion to get them to enter. Stiles forced himself to look anywhere but at Peter as he passed.

“You’ll find your itineraries there on the desk. Ethan, yours is for Danny, and Stiles, for Derek… obviously. I called you both here because you’re both new to this. Usually the itineraries are sent electronically – directly to your phones – but I didn’t want to just send it off and have you not understand what you’re looking at.” Stiles was eyeing the paper. It had a list of events that Derek had to attend over the next two days – the first being the autograph session that they were here for. “While we attend these conferences, we try and schedule press time for all the players – some together and some individually. You’ll find the time and locations of each of these interviews for both today and tomorrow on there. Make sure they get there on time.”

Stiles glanced up then and saw that Peter had finally finished buttoning up his shirt – however, he was now undoing the button and zipper of his pants to artfully tuck his shirt in, causing Stiles’ eyes to snap back down to the paper in his hands while he turned beet red. Luckily, Peter seemed too preoccupied with getting ready and filling the two of them in on their responsibilities to make a comment about it.

“Our boys are seasoned at this so if you have any questions, just ask them. Or find me or Theo.” Peter finished his speech and then checked his watch again. “Be downstairs in fifteen minutes, the bus will be here to take us over to the convention center.” They both nodded, making their way back out of the room, papers in hand. “Ah, one more thing. They’ll be throwing a party tonight at a local club. It’s pretty standard for these types of conferences to do so – food, drinks, dancing, bottle service… Feel free to attend, most of the players and ambassadors do.”

They nodded again and headed out.

Stiles decided to grab a coffee in the café downstairs instead of heading back to his room. Once he ordered, he noticed Derek sitting alone with his own brew at a table. Stiles made his way over and sat before he could think better of it.

Derek looked surprised and slightly irked at his solitude being interrupted so Stiles just reviewed the itinerary in silence instead of striking up a conversation right away.

They hadn’t really talked much to each other on the way to L.A.. Which struck Stiles as a bit odd considering Derek had elected to sit beside him the whole time – apart from when he’d been playing travel games with Parrish.

Now that Stiles had seen the mind-blowing hotel, he felt like he had to say something to Derek about the fact that he’d requested Stiles’ presence as an ambassador. If it weren’t for Derek, he wouldn’t even be here. A fact that had only just stopped being annoying when Stiles finally realized just how cool it all really was.

“Hey, I just wanted to say thanks… to you. About all of this I mean; it’s super nice. Like way nicer than anything I’ve ever seen, so… thanks – again.” Stiles took a sip of his coffee to shut himself up. Derek looked around at the hotel as if noticing for the first time how nice it was, Stiles tried not to feel envious of that. That’s what came with fame after all… apathy to luxury.

When Derek met his eyes again, he just shrugged but said nothing.

Usually Stiles would press but he held himself back – he’d thanked him and that was good enough. Even if he was dying to know why Derek had said he wouldn’t attend if Stiles didn’t. Stiles had to remind himself that curiosity killed the cat; he really should just count his blessings to be there at all.

They finished their drinks in silence before the appearance of more players in the lobby made it obvious the bus was arriving soon. Stiles grabbed his empty cup and went to throw it away, contemplating getting another before ultimately deciding against it.

He turned back around, not expecting Derek to be standing and waiting for him before making his way to the exit. He smiled gratefully and they walked out together.

The ride to the convention center was a short one, especially compared to their morning drive from Beacon Hills.

It was a bit of an event to get all the players out of the bus and through the crowds into the center. The conference hadn’t started yet, so all the fans were waiting patiently outside to be let in.

Apparently, the Wolves’ exclusive autograph session was supposed to be the start off of the weekend-long conference. They set the tables along the entrance so those with VIP early access would have the chance to get merchandise signed by their favorite Wolves’ players.

Stiles, Theo, Liam, and Ethan stood off to the side. Stiles wasn’t sure what an ambassador was supposed to do during an autograph session, but figured following along with what Theo and Liam were doing would probably not steer him wrong. They were both experienced in the position after all… unlike Stiles.

Stiles had wondered why they had put Derek furthest from the door until the fans were being let in and he quickly realized the genius behind the position. Most of the fans tried to follow in a line – stopping at each player on the way to get multiple signatures. While others went directly to the players they were most interested in.

While most of their guys could sign quickly and avoid a pile up, soon a line was forming in front of Derek. Not because Derek wasn’t quick at signing the items but because of the amount of fans bypassing the rest of the players to wait for the team’s All-Star player’s signature only. If Derek had been in Isaac’s position, closest to the door, the growing crowd blocking the exit would definitely become a fire hazard.

Stiles watched Derek greet the fans. He walked the line between impassiveness and showing genuine appreciation for the fans attending on his face. He wasn’t exactly beaming at them, but he wasn’t wearing his usual scowl either. Occasionally, a fan would say something endearing or complimentary and Derek would smile at them a little bit more than the rest, though sometimes a fan would say something unintentionally rude or suggestive, and then he would drop the smile altogether.

Stiles didn’t know how long he stood there just staring at Derek, but when Theo cleared his throat, it startled Stiles out of it.

“Huh?” Stiles turned to Theo, unsure if he’d spoken to him or not.

“I said, Hale’s gotta be faster than this – we’re gonna be late to the press conference.” The comment had Stiles checking his phone for the time and then the itinerary stuffed into his back pocket. They still had half an hour to wrap up and head over to the press conference room, though the line in front of Derek was getting exceptionally long now.

“It’s not his fault Theo, he’s going as fast as he can.” Liam cut in, rolling his eyes. “Danny’s line is getting longer now too and Boyd’s.”

“Don’t be jealous you got stuck with Lahey and Parrish, Liam.” Stiles didn’t really like the way Theo was insinuating that Isaac and Jordan were any less popular than the rest. Parrish was an extraordinary player, he’d been the team’s All-Star before Derek joined, and Isaac was one of the youngest sought after talent in the whole of MLB.

“Eat me.” Liam apparently didn’t find it necessary to point this out to Theo, so Stiles kept his mouth shut as well. He’d been doing that a lot today, maybe he was getting better at his brain-to-mouth filtration.

One thing was for sure though, and that was that Theo was kind of a dick. Not that Stiles hadn’t already suspected that – considering Derek’s negative reaction to the mention of him on Stiles’ first day as an ambassador. He’d most definitely be going to Liam this weekend if he had any questions.

When Derek managed to get through the long line of fans, Stiles followed the lead of the other ambassadors and made his way over to him to escort him to the press conference room.

The room was already set up: a long table with seven chairs and microphones on a small stage in front, with rows of chairs facing forward all the way back to the far wall. There was a podium with a microphone attached next to the stage, where a man was introducing the players one by one.

By then, the non-VIP fans had been let in to the conference and they were trickling in, taking up the chairs way in the back. The first five rows were for the news reporters, Stiles could tell because they were all holding impressive looking cameras and holding their own microphones to ask questions.

They called Derek’s name last and when they did, the fans in the back cheered the loudest. Derek raised a hand in hello to them in acknowledgment before taking his seat.

Stiles wondered if the same rules applied in this type of setting. It was still technically an interview and therefore should follow the same guidelines and off-limit topics. Stiles surveyed the news reporters when they began their questioning, he breathed out a sigh of relief when he didn’t see the awful interviewer from the other day, Kate. It would be particularly uncomfortable to have to call her out on her bullshit here – in front of fans and other reporters.

It was all going pretty smoothly until about halfway in, when they opened up questions to some of the fans sitting in the crowd.

Stiles watched a young man approach for his turn, he looked nervous but excited to be talking to his favorite team – he was completely decked out in Wolves gear.

“I just wanted to say that, Danny, you are like such an inspiration to me and I just wanted to thank you for all you’ve done and coming out like you did. It was really brave and I’m a huge fan.” When the man was finished speaking, the room was silent. Stiles was caught between being touched by the sentiment and being worried about the topic being brought up at all.

Then in the dead quiet of the room, a boisterous voice called out from the way back: “Why don’t you ask him for his number, faggot.”

A few gasps were heard around the room and Stiles couldn’t be sure if the asshole had been talking to the fan asking the question or to Danny himself. It didn’t seem to matter though, because suddenly Jackson Whittemore was on his feet. He looked murderous and he grabbed the microphone roughly, yelling into it, “Why don’t you come here and say that again you piece of shit, I’ll kill you.”

It was like the shock disappeared once Jackson spoke and everyone could move again. Theo pushed Stiles to the side to make it to the podium.

“Given the circumstances, please strike these past few comments from the record. Thank you.” Theo’s voice rang out authoritative and all the reporters seemed to be nodding, even as they gaped at the scene playing out in front of them.

“Get that guy the fuck out of here.” Jackson’s voice boomed again in the speakers overhead.

Stiles saw Ethan turn to grab security and followed them to the back to point out the offender. Security managed to escort the asshole out without much trouble.

Stiles met Derek’s eyes then, and he looked like he was contemplating something. Stiles remembered the way Derek had stormed out of the interview when Kate had made nasty remarks about Danny’s “precarious situation”. He also remembered asking Derek why he refused to talk about it in the first place – why he didn’t just openly talk about his support for Danny. The look on his face now… well if Stiles was a betting man, he’d bet that Derek was remembering too.

Unexpectedly, Derek leaned forward into his own microphone and began to speak, “I would like to put on record that as a team we are incredibly lucky and proud to have Mahealani with the Wolves. He’s a phenomenal player and an even better friend, and I think I speak for the whole team when I say that we support him 100%.”

Just like that the crowd was clapping, and Danny and Derek shared a quick moment before everyone settled down.

“Sorry about that man,” Danny spoke to the fan that had been interrupted once all was quiet again, “Thank you so much for your support and your kind words. Stay strong and stay positive and don’t let jerks like that get you down. What was your question?”

Stiles and Derek met each other’s gazes once more and Stiles couldn’t help the wide smile that was on his face. Derek’s own lips twitched but he merely nodded and then focused back on the audience.

Stiles didn’t know if Derek had remembered what he’d said to him the other day or if that had been why he’d spoken up about it. But either way, he was proud that Derek had said something.

The rest of the day was consumed with a few smaller appearances and interviews, and before Stiles knew it, the day was done.

Stiles took out the itinerary from his back pocket and skimmed the events for tomorrow on the bus ride back to the hotel. The first item on the agenda was an early morning meet-and-greet for fans that had purchased a separate ticket just to meet the Derek Hale. Stiles stuffed it back in his pants and looked over to see Derek staring at him. It made Stiles feel uneasy and he rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly.

“You going to the party tonight?” Stiles asked even though he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to go.

Derek shrugged, “It’s not exactly mandatory but we’re expected to go.” It was a pretty cryptic answer and Stiles got the impression that Derek would rather not if he had a choice. It also made Stiles realize he probably needed to go as well, even if the idea of clubbing with a bunch of rich and influential people made him want to throw up with nerves. “A few of us are riding over together, if you want to join?”

“The bus isn’t taking us?” Stiles asked, dumbly.

“To the club? No.” Derek deadpanned turning away and looking back at his phone again. “Meet us in the lobby at eight.”

Stiles spent the rest of the short drive to the hotel trying to decide was he was going to wear. He couldn’t very well wear a white polo to the club, could he?

Shit, did I bring any going out clothes? He thought in a panic.

Stiles made his way to his room quickly when they got back, his anxiety eating at him at the thought that he’d have nothing, at all, appropriate to wear. He dug through his bag and found a dark red button down.

That could be clubby, right? Dark red was sexy in a nightclub way, right?

He threw it on and traded his black slacks for a tasteful pair of dark wash jeans. He prayed that jeans were appropriate. He couldn’t very well wear dress pants to a club, could he?

He checked the time and he still had a few minutes to kill, so he brushed his teeth and psyched himself up in the mirror.

“You got this. You got this. You are totally cool. You go clubbing with rich people all the time.” He lied to himself, “You are Stiles Stilinski and you will not make a fool out of yourself tonight.” He pointed at his reflection demandingly and took a few deep breaths before heading out.

He pushed the down button and waited patiently for the elevator to arrive, not in any sort of rush.

“Hello Stiles.” Stiles jumped at the familiar voice of Peter Tate behind him, he turned to Peter sharply and tried to catch his breath, “You look nice.” Peter continued, ignoring having frightened him.

“Thanks.” Stiles said finally, checking out what Peter was wearing to make sure he was dressed appropriately. Peter was wearing a royal blue, satin button down and black jeans, so Stiles pretty much got it perfect. “You too.”

Peter leered dangerously at that and stepped a bit closer to Stiles when he spoke again, “I was hoping you’d accompany me to the club tonight, I have a car waiting downstairs.”

Stiles almost accepted until he remembered that Derek had already asked, plus Stiles figured he should at least attempt to remove temptation – lest he end up losing his job for sleeping with the Wolves’ slutty team manager.

Though, riding with Derek was hardly removing any temptation at all – but at least Derek wasn’t actively trying to get into his pants like Peter evidently, undeniably was. Any temptation Derek brought to the table was pitifully one-sided.

Before Stiles got a chance to respond, Derek and Isaac rounded the corner. Derek’s lighthearted expression fell when his eyes met Peter’s.

Isaac, for his part, just bounced over excitedly and put an arm around Stiles’ neck.

“Hey Stiles, you ready to par-tay?” Isaac pushed the button a few more times, Stiles was sure he’d pressed it before – why’s it taking so long?

“Uh, yeah.” Stiles had tried to sound excited, and failed.

“You’re riding with us, right? Derek called a limo.” Stiles met Peter’s eyes again and the man just shrugged, though there was a hint of annoyance on his face.

“Sorry Peter, I’d already told Derek I would go with them but we’ll see you there?” Stiles saw Derek narrow his eyes at Peter at that but before anyone could say anything else, the elevator thankfully arrived.

This was going to be a long, long night.

Chapter Text

Stiles wasn’t sure why he was feeling star struck entering the limo – he should have expected the Wolves’ players to arrive to the club in style. His awe was probably due to the fact that he was so completely out of his element that it was almost comical.

Luckily, Isaac seemed to want to make Stiles feel as comfortable as possible. It made sense considering how young Isaac was, plus he was the team’s newest player. Stiles imagined that Isaac must’ve felt similarly when he first joined the team and was subjected to all the pomp and circumstance.

Stiles didn’t say much on the ride over since Boyd, Jackson, and Danny dominated much of the conversation. Though Isaac did lean in a few times to encourage Stiles to engage. Derek, for his part, seemed to be at ease but disinterested in the conversation.

When they pulled up to the club entrance, it was far less hectic than Stiles would have thought. It seemed the organizers of the welcome party were more secretive – limiting the amount of press that were allowed to loiter and snag shots of the players. It made sense; after all, no manager wanted their players to end up on the cover of a magazine piss drunk and slovenly after a night of partying.

Even from the outside though, Stiles could tell the club was crowded. He could see the mass of people through the huge, black double doors that were wide open with only a velvet, red rope and a scary looking bouncer protecting the entrance.

The door to their limo was opened for them and the players excitedly hopped out. Danny pushing playfully at Jackson’s shoulder in retribution for Jackson nudging everyone out of his way to leave the car first. Isaac left Stiles’ side next and Stiles met Derek’s eyes, waiting for him to leave before daring to exit the vehicle.

Derek stayed put, and Stiles eyed him uncomfortably before he jerked his head towards the door, signaling Stiles to leave first. Stiles probably would have insisted on Derek getting out before him, but they were already losing their group as the players all made their way to the bouncer, and Stiles didn’t want to delay any further. Unfortunately, by the time Derek and Stiles made it to the bouncer, Derek’s teammates were already hidden and out of sight in the packed club.

Stiles had seen the bouncer checking names on an iPad before allowing entry, but as Derek approached, the man tucked away the iPad to his side. The scary looking man appeared to soften his rough features and he stumbled his words in a way that didn’t match his appearance.

“W-Wow, it’s so good to meet you, Mr. Hale. I’m… uh… I’m a huge fan.” Stiles looked to Derek who was walking just a step behind him. Derek smiled politely and nodded his head in thanks. The man turned his attention to Stiles, clearly displeased with having to look away from his idol. “Name, please?” He huffed with apathy that stemmed from having to repeat the same question all night.

Stiles felt a hand on his lower back, and he startled minutely at the contact. “This is my player ambassador, Stiles Stilinski.”

Derek once again snapped up the man’s attention and he smiled widely at the fact that Derek had spoken to him, even if it wasn’t anything personal. He didn’t bother checking Stiles’ name before he made to undo the rope to allow them entry. “Ah, yes of course, Mr. Hale. Sorry about that. Have a nice night.”

Stiles felt a slight pressure on his back to encourage him to walk forward. Once inside, it was like sensory overload. The bass of the music pressed against his ears like a physical weight. The air was thick but it wasn’t putrid and smothering like it was at the crappy, small town clubs he was used to being at. It didn’t smell like cigars or cigarettes, but instead the air carried a heady smell of hundreds of different expensive colognes and perfumes. It combined with the musk of sweat and drinks, and the smell of real leather that adorned all the furniture. All of which resulted in a heavy but not entirely displeasing odor. It was lively and intoxicating, even if it was slightly suffocating at the same time. The club was dark, but what looked like genuine crystal chandeliers offered the large club an ethereal glow – like disco balls but for the offensively affluent. They entered on the second story, much to Stiles’ surprise. The second story, however, only hugged the walls – the entire middle of the floor was open, exposing the first story, which held the dance floor. Fully stocked bars lined all four walls of the upstairs. Though there was one bar he could see downstairs as well, sanctioned off with red rope and containing tables and booths that Stiles recognized as a VIP section. He almost laughed out loud at that, wasn’t everyone here a VIP?

He was pulled from his trance by a hand at his elbow. He tore his eyes from the impressive display to look at Derek, who looked bored with the scenery. Stiles almost wanted to hit him for that. Without speaking a word, Derek lightly pulled him along – making his way down the elegant staircases and into the VIP section he’d seen before. He should’ve known.

He felt himself calm down slightly having a barrier between himself and all of the people around, and at seeing the familiar faces leaning against the bar and lounging on the leather couches. Stiles was shocked to see Lydia, looking downright deadly (but undeniably gorgeous) in a tight, red dress and stiletto heels. Stiles wondered if she’d really come all the way to L.A. only to attend the party, then figured she probably had some things to take care of tomorrow for the second day of the conference too.

Lydia met his eyes for a brief moment but left his gaze to look at Derek. She brought a hand up to beckon Derek over, a serious look on her face. Derek visibly sighed and excused himself from Stiles to undoubtedly talk business with her.

With Derek gone from his side, Stiles felt himself tense up again. He thought about getting a drink but found himself leaning on a high top table awkwardly instead. Before he could work up the nerve to inject himself in a group conversation or go to the bar for a drink, he felt a familiar hand pat his waist from behind. He turned quickly in shock.

“Hello again.” Peter leaned casually against the same table that Stiles was leaning on, close enough that Stiles could hear him, but surprisingly not unnecessarily close. Also surprisingly, Stiles felt himself deflate – his panic at being left alone leaving him as he smiled shyly in Peter’s direction. Perhaps it was the overly exhilarating aura of the club that made Peter’s presence so welcoming – honestly Stiles was just glad someone had approached him so he didn’t have to feel unwanted or intrusive.

Stiles took too long to respond and so Peter’s hand found its way back to Stiles’ waist and stayed there. The warm hand against his body had Stiles’ nerves on edge again, but for a totally different (and truthfully not entirely unwanted) reason.

“You okay Stiles? I know it can be a little overwhelming the first time, how about we get you a drink?” Peter’s words were smooth and his breath was warm on Stiles’ face, smelling faintly of cinnamon. Stiles allowed himself to be led to the bar, where Peter simply raised two fingers at the bartender and magically two full rocks glasses appeared before them. Peter handed one to Stiles before picking up his own, tipping the edge in cheers before downing half in one go.

Stiles sought out Derek for a moment before drinking and found him still talking with Lydia. Their body language calm yet urgent, like they were discussing something of import that couldn’t wait until after the party. Maybe it had something to do with the schedule tomorrow? A hand squeezing his waist reminded him that he hadn’t taken a drink yet and he turned his attention back to Peter.

Stiles gave him a sheepish grin and downed his own drink like a shot, coughing a little at the burn. Peter stifled a laugh before finishing his own drink one gulp later. He signaled to the bartender again and Stiles found himself with a new drink in record time. He had only a second to think that this might not be a good idea before Peter downed his in one go, mimicking Stiles from before, no doubt trying to make Stiles feel more comfortable. The thought warmed him – or maybe that was the alcohol – and all other thoughts escaped him.

Stiles wished desperately that he’d built up a better tolerance in college. After a few drinks, he definitely felt his inhibitions swaying and while he felt more relaxed, he couldn’t stop the nagging voice in his head reminding him that he was technically working. Though, Peter was his boss, kind of, and he was the one getting Stiles drunk, so he really couldn’t be faulted – could he?

Stiles recognized the glassy eyed look mirrored in Peter’s expression as the man leaned further in and placed his free hand on Stiles’ other side – pulling his frame that much closer as well.

In the back of Stiles’ mind he knew he was breaking all his rules of removing temptation. Peter was a good-looking man, and though Stiles knew Peter laid the charm on almost anyone, in his hazy state it felt kind of nice to be wanted.

Peter let his lips meet the shell of Stiles’ ear for a moment to whisper, “Dance with me?”

What harm could it do? Stiles thought before nodding his head and following Peter out of the VIP section towards the dance floor. Peter didn’t take them too far into the crowd, sticking close to the edge so they could get more drinks if needed.

Stiles recognized the Charli XCX song playing and was glad for the alcohol for making him loose-limbed and confident enough to sway to the beat. They started their dance facing each other, Peter’s hands grounding him with their place on his hips, but soon Stiles felt himself being turned around. He allowed Peter to press into him from behind.

Stiles felt eyes on him and chanced a look towards the VIP section not far from where they were dancing. He met Derek’s gaze immediately. Lydia was only just turning away from him, Stiles guessed they were finally finished with their conversation.

Stiles was unable to break the eye contact with Derek. He felt a little uneasy at the staring contest, and wished he were sober enough to read the look in Derek’s eyes. As it was, he couldn’t decipher much, all he knew was that something was making him hot all over – whether it was the body flush with his from behind or the penetrating look in Derek’s eyes, he couldn’t say for sure.

Stiles felt lips at his neck at the same time that he saw Isaac pulling at Derek’s sleeve. Derek broke their stare to look towards Isaac who motioned up the stairs. Stiles watched as a group of them appeared to be heading upstairs to leave, Derek joining them in their exit.

It made panic rise in his chest. He didn’t want to be left behind. A hand on his hip slid a little lower and it snapped Stiles to attention. He turned in Peter’s grasp and leaned forward to speak directly in Peter’s ear.

“’M gonna get som’air, checkin with Der.” He slurred. Peter didn’t hesitate to let him go and nodded, even though Stiles could see him clenching his jaw marginally.

Out of Peter’s grasp, he felt slightly more flighty. The alcohol making his steps uncertain, like the ground was uneven, though he knew it wasn’t. He carefully took the stairs one step at a time, actually using the handrails to steady himself.

After what felt like climbing Mount Everest, he was finally upstairs. He hugged the outer railing for balance as he dashed for the door, suddenly desperate for some fresh, clean air.

He nodded to the bouncer in a sloppy greeting that he was sure would embarrass him when he remembered it the next day. He gulped down the brisk, night air frantically, as if he’d been deprived of oxygen for years.

Disappointingly, it didn’t seem to sober him up any. Time is the only thing that can sober you up, Stiles. His thoughts reminded him in his father’s “Sheriff voice”. He looked around but didn’t see any of the players in his line of sight. He did, however, hear the familiar sound of Jackson ranting about something. He probably wouldn’t have recognized the voice if he hadn’t been listening to it the entire way to the club earlier.

He followed it to the edge of the building, where he could see the group huddled together by the side of the club. Derek’s back was to him, but Jackson and Ethan were in view, both smoking a cigarette. It didn’t matter that Ethan was, only being a player ambassador after all, but Stiles was almost positive Whittemore was not supposed to be partaking in such activities as a high profile athlete, but it wasn’t his place to say anything. Stiles assumed the rest of them must’ve just wanted some fresh air as well.

Stiles stopped short before revealing himself to the group as his sluggish brain caught on to what Jackson was saying.

“I think this is the quickest that dog has managed to bag a new ambassador. Seriously, it’s got to be a new record.” Jackson snickered, taking a drag. Danny elbowed him in the gut.

“They’re just dancing Jackson.” Isaac spoke up, his voice indignant.

“Pffft, I’d give my left nut if they don’t end up in the same hotel room tonight.” Danny elbowed Jackson again and got a vicious shove in response. “Hey, I’m just saying. I mean the kid’s cute, can’t say I’m surprised. Should’ve warned him Hale.” He sneered in Derek's direction.

Through the haziness of his thoughts, Stiles somehow knew they were talking about him and it unsettled him greatly. He needed to put a stop to any rumors or slander; he didn’t want to lose this job.

He tried to center himself before walking out into the alley in full view of the group. Unfortunately for Stiles, he’d walked a little too fast and a little too eager, his attempt at entering the conversation with confidence and swagger resulted in the world tilting on its side. He really wished he’d drank more in college. Next thing he knew he was catching himself with palms to the cool concrete.

“Whoa, Stiles, you okay?” He vaguely registered Isaac’s soothing, but currently concerned, voice.

Stiles knew what it felt like to blackout, and he had enough wherewithal to comprehend that’s where he was headed. He mentally kicked himself before he lost all sense of what happened next.

Chapter Text

Stiles was not a drinker. Not because he didn’t know how to party. Not because he didn’t know how to get loose and have fun. He was good at all of that. What he was not good at, not at all, was surviving the hangover the next day.

He stretched in the hotel bed, feeling every muscle in his body ache. He took a moment to appreciate how soft the sheets were. They were nothing like the usual stiff and over-bleached hotel sheets Stiles was used to.

As he slowly gained more consciousness, flashes of the end of the night popped into his head, worsening the throbbing headache that was making him groan in misery.

He remembered hands helping him off the ground; Isaac’s definitely, maybe Derek’s too? He remembered lying down in the limo – the leather seats surprisingly cozy. He remembered stripping out of his shirt and pants once he got into his room and climbing into a warm bed, reveling in the dense comforter.

He opened his eyes, his eyelids heavy.

Suddenly something jostled the covers to his left, and it sent a cold shiver of fear running up his spine. He wasn’t alone. He was in a bed. Not alone. In his underwear. Had he had sex? No. No, he didn’t have sex. He remembered taking his own clothes off, plus he didn’t feel like he’d had sex. He just felt hung-over.

He forced himself to take a deep, calming breath before turning his head to the side to look upon his bedfellow.

The breath he’d taken caught dangerously in his throat.

Derek Hale.

Chapter Text

This is fine. This is totally fine. Stiles’ internal thoughts were desperate in their attempt to calm him. The fear that Derek would wake from the incessant beating of his heart was an irrational but crippling fear.

He slowed his breathing, aware of every little movement his heaving chest made to the bedding. No way could he let Derek wake up, especially not while he was in this state. He had to have already seen though, last night. His unhelpful brain reminded him.

This was bad… this was very, very bad.

Game plan: he needed to get out of this bed. Derek’s bed. He needed to put on his clothes. He needed to leave.

He would deal with the pesky issue that was Derek’s memories at a later time.

Stiles slowly grabbed at the edge of the hotel comforter, peeling it from his body gently like a child removes a band-aid. He thought to himself that perhaps quick would be better, but dismissed the idea almost immediately as Derek shuffled in his sleep to his left.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. His mind screamed at him but he didn’t dare speak the words aloud, even as a whisper.

Derek turned his head towards Stiles as he adjusted. His eyes still closed and his gorgeous, godlike face slack with sleep. He smacked his lips slightly and Stiles was about to die, feeling his cheeks heat at just how adorable and domestic it all was.

What Stiles wouldn’t give to be allowed to wake up next to this man for the rest of his life. No… nonono. That was not a good thought to have. Focus.

Stiles turned his attention once again to removing the sheets from his body. He hesitated once he’d gotten them low enough to pull his legs free. Realizing he was wearing his baseball briefs. The briefs covered in cartoon baseballs and bats… with the words “Hit this ass out of the park!” printed proudly on the back. For a moment he wondered how high up they were and if it would be possible to jump out of the window to his death.

Maybe Derek didn’t see it. Maybe it was far too dark and he wasn’t able to see what his underwear said. That was possible.

That lie was enough to get him moving again. He got his legs free and was just about to hoist himself out of the bed when the door to the room banged wide open.

Derek woke with a start, sitting straight up, looking like he would pounce at the intruder any moment. Stiles, himself, was motionless, disbelieving that life could be this unfair.

Lydia Martin and Peter Tate stood frozen right inside the hotel room, their expressions mirroring each other comically. Stiles thought for a brief moment that perhaps they hated each other so much due to their similarities.

Their stark differences soon took hold, though, as Lydia’s expression turned cold, calculating, and pissed, and Peter’s own turned positively delighted in a downright evil and predatory way.

“Why… what do we have here?” Peter’s sultry voice drawled as Lydia had enough sense to turn and close the hotel room door. “Der, I didn’t think you the type.”

Pfft. Stiles looked to his left to see Derek rolling his eyes and yawning, obviously not nearly as freaked out as Stiles at the current situation. Derek did spare a moment to look in his direction – his one eyebrow cocked as he gestured with his eyes that Stiles should probably cover up.

Stiles realized belatedly that he was lying on top of the covers, having been interrupted in the middle of his escape. He yelped a little at the realization and hurriedly retreated under the warm comforter once more.

Stiles looked back to Peter in time to see his wandering eyes and felt his cheeks catch on fire.

“What in the world is going on here? Is this why you insisted he attend, Derek? For god’s sake, I don’t care what you do in your free time but don’t do it on the Wolves’ dime.” Lydia spoke up in a furious tone, though her words were hushed just in case these walls weren’t as think as they looked.

A tiny noise escaped Stiles as the insinuation sunk in. “What? Do? Do nothing. We did nothing! There’s no doing the do here. Not at all!” Stiles had a lot of experience with being looked at like he’s an idiot, but none quite as intense as the three matching deadpanned stares he was receiving now.

“He was shitfaced and thought this was his room.” Derek finally explained; Stiles buried his face in his hands as the memories returned slowly and dully to his brain as he listened. “I kept telling him it wasn’t, but he took off all his clothes and got into the bed.” Derek finished and shrugged nonchalantly.

“And why would you not just go to his room, Derek? Do you have any idea what this looks like?” Lydia crossed her arms in judgment, even as her shoulders relaxed minutely.

“Because this is my room.” Derek replied with no preamble, as if that was as reasonable and perfect an excuse as any.

Lydia was not so impressed.

“Makes sense to me, I wouldn’t want to leave either.” Peter winked in Stiles’ direction, which just made Stiles groan in embarrassment once more. He could see the unmoved expression on Derek’s face as Peter kept on grinning.

“Whatever. Don’t let it happen again.” Lydia leveled them both with an intense look at the command, and continued, “I came to make sure you remembered what I told you last night. Sports Illustrated has their private session at nine, so get your ass up.”

Derek yawned once more, and flapped a hand in her direction in confirmation as he pulled the sheets down to exit the bed. For his part, he was wearing navy blue pajama pants. Though, he was shirtless - and Stiles really did not need to be thinking about the skin on skin that could have happened during their night of “sleeping” together… at least not now… very especially not now, with his extensive audience.

“Get dressed boys.” Peter teased as they both made to leave the room, “We’ll meet you downstairs in five.” And with that, Derek and Stiles were left alone.

Derek stretched languidly and turned his impassive stare at Stiles after a moment’s silence. “You might want to get dressed and head to your room to change. We’re already running late.”

His words shocked Stiles into gear and he made quick work of getting out of the bed and into his clothes, careful not to turn his body in fear that Derek would see his undies (and that would really put the cherry on top of this mortifying sundae).

“I’ll leave now.” Stiles murmured as he shuffled towards the door. A hand to his elbow stopped him in his tracks. Stiles looked doe-eyed at Derek, preparing himself for the worst, but was faced with a mischievous glint in those moss green eyes that he didn't recognize. He hadn't seen Derek look so playful before.

“Don’t be late getting downstairs. I want to make sure we really hit it out of the park today.” Stiles’ ugly, gaping fish face was back with full force. His cheeks going as hot as he’s ever felt, as Derek laughed out loud at his own joke.

What floor were they on again?