Work Text:
"We're fucking cursed." Stiles plops down into the one decent chair in the workroom and buries his head in his hands. "It's January 93rd, and we are officially cursed."
"We are not cursed." Derek swaps his empty Keurig pod for a new one and sets Stiles' R2-D2 mug on the machine before hitting start. "January is just a tough month is all."
"We've had five fights today," Stiles lifts his head up enough to say. The dark circles under his eyes are deeper than they’ve been in weeks. "Five. Two of them were fucking freshmen brawling, and I just broke up another in the bathroom."
"Jesus Christ, another one? What about?"
Stiles waves a hand aimlessly. "Fuck if I know. Some sort of baby mama drama? The health classes do not seem to be effective lately, because the teens are hella fertile."
Derek sets the coffee in front of him, reveling in the soft smile it earns him.
"Thanks, Derek. I appreciate it."
"Anytime." Derek sits across from him. "Other than the fights, how has your week been?"
They've resorted to texting in the pod group chat (and out of it) due to multiple PLC meetings, IEPs, 504s, Parent/Teacher Conferences, covering classes, and other assorted January fuckery.
"It's been a disaster. Kids have been either asleep or useless, and I can't get anyone to focus on imperialism. We have a test next week! Some of them don't know the name of Franz Fucking Ferdinand!"
"You deserve a drink for surviving the month," Derek announces. "We both do. Come with me to Maria's on the North side. We'll get margaritas and tacos, make a night of it."
"A night of it?" Stiles sips his coffee, and Derek can practically see him buffer. "Want to make a date of it?"
It's his turn to buffer. Derek pauses with his mug half-way to his mouth, processing the sentence to be sure he didn't mishear. Unfortunately, Stiles takes his stunned silence for an uncomfortable one.
"I mean, unless it would totally ruin the work friendship we've built up and make things totally awkward, in which case I'll just Postmate tacos and tequila and get drunk on my own instead. Either is fine, it's fine."
"Stiles, shut up," Derek says.
Stiles' mouth snaps shut.
"I would love to make a date of it. Don't over-think things. Maria's at seven so we have time to go home, change, and breathe for a minute?"
"That's great. Yes, let's do that."
"Good." Derek's smile relaxes. "Drink your damn coffee."
"I can do that."
…
Derek spends entirely too long deciding what to wear to Maria's. He finally settles on nice jeans and a soft (tight) black graphic tee. He thinks Stiles will appreciate the reference, and it looks good under his leather jacket.
(Okay so maybe he's going all out to look as different from his usual polo-shirts and button downs as possible, but the English teacher group-chat dubs it hot so he's not going to over-think it.)
He's in the parking lot by 6:30, but he waits awkwardly in the car until 6:48 until he handle waiting any longer.
To Stiles: I have a table.
From Stiles: Parked.
When Derek sees Stiles, he forgets to breathe for a second. Gone are his usual over-sized plaid shirts and khakis, replaced by a sinfully tight red henley and black jeans.
"Derek, hey."
"Hey." Derek stands for a brief semi-professional hug, trying not to perv too obviously.
He makes it all of fifteen seconds, long enough to sit back down.
"You look really good in that," he blurts. "I mean, you always do, but-"
"Thank you." Stiles smiles, genuine and sunny and - fuck. "You look good too. Is that a Sawbones reference?"
Derek looks down at his "I am different/Let this not upset you" t-shirt.
"It is. Laura got it for me for Christmas after a Sawbones binge while we were working on building a tree house in her backyard for my niece and nephew."
"That is absolutely adorable, and I love the shirt." Stiles' smile shifts to something warmer. "It's true about you as much as it is about Paracelsus."
That's…
"You are too much."
"I mean it. You're a great teacher, a great friend, apparently a great brother and uncle too. I want pictures of you with the kiddos, by the way. That sounds amazing."
Good, a distraction. He could talk about Nikki and Caleb forever.
It's halfway through his Christmas pictures that he realizes that Stiles' foot is between his under the table.
How can he be so put together at work and such a disaster at flirting? Laura is going to laugh at him for days.
"They're lucky to have you for an uncle," Stiles says.
"Do you have any kids in the family? Or godchildren?"
Watching Stiles talk about the McCall kids is like watching the sun rise. He's beginning to understand why Stiles wound him up about the twins.
…
Derek pays before Stiles can even get his wallet out.
"Hey, I am an independent man, and I do not need you to pay for me," Stiles says, mostly joking.
"You can get the check next time," Derek replies, not joking at all.
"I - yeah, I can get the check next time." His cheeks are pink from his one margarita, but they get pinker with his so-soft smile. "That'll be the plan."
They walk out, and Derek heckles Stiles' ancient Jeep for the dozenth time this school year. Stiles leans against the door, seemingly unwilling to get in and drive off. Derek finds himself leaning closer.
"Hey." Stiles brings a hand up to Derek's cheek. "You should totally kiss me right now."
"You are a mess." Derek does as he's told, closing the gap.
One soft, perfect kiss turns into several. Derek sinks into the embrace, pinning Stiles to the Jeep.
They stop when they hear a chorus of giggles from the sidewalk, and Derek hides his face against Stiles' shoulder.
"How many?"
"Four, mostly freshmen."
"We're never going to hear the end of this, are we?"
"Nope," Stiles says with a smile against Derek's cheek. "I'm okay with that, though."
"You owe me twenty dollars!" one girl yells at her friends.
"They had a fucking betting pool going?"