Work Text:
“This is the worst idea I’ve had all year.”
Stiles can’t even bring himself to get out of the jeep. He stares miserably at the sign that reads Beacon Hills Recreation Center, silently cursing his dad for insisting he actually get off his butt this summer.
His second semester at Beacon Hills Community College just wrapped up and Stiles’ dad barely gave him a week of marinating his brain in video games and Netflix before he kicked him off the couch to go outside for the first time in who knows how long. Then his dad had recommended he check out the student discounts available at their local gym—in that Sheriff way, where it was less of a recommendation and more of an order.
“I must really be a masochist or something,” Stiles finally makes himself get out of the car, ignoring the bleach blonde soccer mom who gives him a weird look and hefts her rolled up yoga mat onto her shoulder, like she’s preparing to smack him with it if he gets any closer to her.
Stiles really cannot believe he let his dad talk him into this. The guy behind the front desk has a nametag that reads Isaac, and he’s tapping on his phone idly. He doesn’t even look up when Stiles approaches. Stiles clears his throat, which at least gets him some eye contact.
“Uh, I’d like to sign up for a student membership,” Stiles says, leaning his elbows on the desk, “Well, I wouldn’t like to, but it’s a new thing I’m trying, I guess. Thanks to my dad and his inability to let me become a zombie for the next three months until I inevitably need to be peeled off the couch when fall semester starts. Anyways.”
The guy Isaac stares at him for a while, probably thinking about how he doesn’t get paid enough for this. Eventually, though, he grabs a clipboard and some paperwork.
“Fill this out, and I need to see a school ID. Also whatever you’re planning on using to pay for your first month,” Isaac says, clicking a few things on a computer. Stiles complies and seriously debates asking whether he can get a nickname printed on his membership card rather than his birth name. Isaac is printing the card and shoving it at him before he can even get the words out.
“You’ve got access to all facilities—pool, fitness rooms, tennis courts, locker room. You get four complimentary meetings with a personal trainer, if you want. And all the group fitness classes are free and open to everyone who RSVPs.”
Isaac goes back to his phone without waiting for a response.
“Thanks,” Stiles drawls out, heavy on the sarcasm. He enters the main work-out area of the gym and, yeah. This blows. Stiles doesn’t work out for a reason. There’s an old man just walking around the track and too many people running on different machines. There’s a bunch of confusing looking weight machines and rows of dumbbells. This is the worst thing ever.
Playing it safe, Stiles decides to run for a bit on an elliptical. He ends up setting it to the least resistance possible and kind of half-heartedly moving his legs as lazily as he can. He can’t believe he just paid money to come to this building full of sweaty people and watch the news on a tiny TV.
After half an hour, he’s more bored than he’s ever been in his life and he hasn’t even broken a sweat. Stiles abandons the elliptical and decides to snoop around instead. He checks out all the different workout rooms, pausing for a few minutes to watch a Zumba class that’s just finishing up. The pool actually looks pretty cool, and the locker room has a sauna, which is awesome as long as Stiles can avoid running into naked, hairy old men. He leaves soon after that, though, giving up on even the thought of exercise for the time being.
Stiles is bummed that Scott is working at the clinic so much this summer. They’ve barely seen each other since Scott came home from UCLA, and it’s been hard to find time to hang like they used to. Scott would totally be down to go to the gym with Stiles, and he would definitely know what he was doing. Scott is kinda ripped now, after he started working out hardcore last fall. Stiles is only a little salty about it. So what if his own stomach is kinda squishy? It’s just more to love. Probably. Not that there’s anyone currently doing any loving.
Ugh, this really was the worst idea. Stiles is gonna go home and eat a whole pint of rocky road.
-
Stiles had zero intentions of returning to the gym. He was perfectly happy with his laptop and blanket cocoon. And if he had snuck a couple Snickers bars in there with him, well his dad didn’t have to know about it.
His dad, though, was the problem.
He just kept giving Stiles these looks, like he was trying to control him through guilt and disappointed-dad-frowns. His dad is the only reason he is currently back at this horrible hell-hole.
In fact, the more Stiles stares at the brick exterior and lines of tiny windows, the more it looks like a prison. Stiles sighs and walks in. Isaac is back at the front desk, and he barely spares Stiles a glance when he scans his membership card.
It’s a little less crowded than last time Stiles came, probably a weird time after the pre-work exercisers but before the post-work exercisers. Or maybe people are just slowly catching on to the fact that working out sucks balls.
Stiles eyes the rows of machines with distrust. He’s wondering what he could do to reap the most benefits while doing the least amount of work. Going home and crawling back into bed for a little cat-nap sounds great. He could even jog back to his car, just to raise his heartbeat a little before becoming one with his mattress. Stiles has an upsetting flashback to the gym membership fee taken out of his bank account, though, and it’s pathetic enough to get him to stay.
Something Isaac had said tickles at the back of his mind. Hmm, it sounds like potential torture. But it could also help Stiles figure out what the hell he’s even doing. He’s leaning against the front desk before he knows it.
“So, I couldn’t help but recall you mentioning free meetings with a personal trainer?” Stiles says, forgoing a greeting or even an acknowledgement that he’s being listened to. Isaac surprises him by looking up with a smirk.
“Tired of standing on the elliptical doing nothing?”
Stiles sputters. The audacity.
“Um, okay were you watching me?! Because, first of all: creepy. Second of all: you don’t even look at me when we have actual conversations, why are you looking at me when I’m across the room? I don’t have a third of all, but I’d just like to reiterate—creepy.”
Isaac just raises his eyebrows and holds the eye contact, like he’s trying to prove that he does look at Stiles when they have conversations or something. Whatever. Stiles is the master at secret, no-looking, under the desk texting. He fooled countless teachers in high school and gifted his friends with only slightly typo-littered texts. Stiles knows when he’s being played, and Isaac is totally not even giving Stiles his full attention, no matter how much he pretends to.
“Trainer?” Stiles says, fighting a sudden desperate urge to go home and melt into his couch cushions with a few cartons of takeout. Egg rolls, oh my God. If he can get through today, he will have earned his place on the couch-throne.
Isaac taps a few keys on the computer, “Derek’s available right now, but I’m not sure if you’re a good match for him.”
Isaac has this shit eating grin, like he just knows that Stiles isn’t going to take that comment well. But, like, what the fuck. This Derek guy doesn’t deserve the awesomeness that is Stiles. He won’t even know what hit him.
“Um, eff you, beanstalk. I’m perfectly capable of handling whatever this dude throws my way. I’m like a pro at handling stuff. In general. Like, metaphorically. Not physically. Or, well, physically but in a rated PG way. Except also in a rated R way, but not with my personal trainer, you know?”
There’s half a second where Stiles actually thinks Isaac is going to laugh, but he ends up just nodding with his wobbly, mirthful lips pressed tight together.
“You are so right. This is gonna be amazing.”
He even sounds like he means it. Isaac picks up a walkie talkie and calls this Derek guy to the front desk. He gets there quickly, and when he does, well. Let’s just say that Stiles is rethinking that whole no rated R handling with his personal trainer thing.
He’s just so hot. Like, tight t-shirt with the gym logo screen printed on the front, big bulging muscles, scruffy beard. Stiles may be drooling. Derek just looks kinda angry at the world.
“This is Derek,” Isaac says, looking like an evil villain, “He’ll make sure you don’t sit on a bike machine for an hour eating Twizzlers.”
“You’re shaped like a Twizzler,” is the only response Stiles can form in his haste to follow Derek. The guy is literally stalking away, like who does that? The view from the back is just as amazing as the front, though, what the fuck.
-
Derek actually sits Stiles down in a little office to discuss, which is unexpected. He asks a lot of questions, like what are Stiles’ exercise goals and what does he currently do. His voice is all angry Hulk-smash, but his eyes go a little exasperated at Stiles’ answers. I mean, it’s not like he’d be able to fool anyone. Doing crunches so he can reach the laptop to play the next episode is a sport.
“Alright Miecz—”
“Stiles, oh my God, it’s Stiles please. This is already torture enough, I don’t need to hear you try to pronounce that monstrosity.”
“Stiles,” Derek amends, mouth twitching into the ghost of a smile, “I’ll write up a personalized workout routine for you, and we can meet here this time every week until your four complimentary sessions are up or you want to pay to continue meeting. I expect you to be working out on your own the rest of the week, though.”
“On my own?” Stiles asks, strangely intimidated at the thought of all the confusing machines.
“I’ll show you everything you need to do,” Derek assures him, narrowing his eyes like he’s thinking about whether or not to say something.
“What’s your diet like?” he finally asks, eyes trained on Stiles with suspicion.
Stiles considers stretching the truth for the sake of his dignity, but he’s not sure he even had any dignity to begin with.
“Mostly fried. Or in fun, colorful packaging,” he says, trying not to stare when Derek drops his head back and sighs, “I eat vegetables, though! I do. And fruit. Sometimes. I try to make healthy dinners for my dad and keep him away from excess sugar and stuff.”
Stiles trails off, deciding that Derek is better off not hearing about the stash of Oreos under Stiles’ bed. Derek glances down at Stiles’ membership file, looking thoughtful.
“Stilinski. As in the Sheriff?”
“The one and only.”
“Then I probably shouldn’t be telling you that your dad definitely has a punch card for my family’s bakery.”
Stiles gasps, mouth dropping in betrayal. His dad has been sneaking baked goods? He is so in for it tonight.
“He wouldn’t,” Stiles says, all while dredging his memories for what bakery Derek must be talking about. Hale’s Sweets, Stiles thinks. It’s gotta be, considering that place is heaven on earth and makes the best chocolate croissants in the county. Which would make this Derek Hale—brother to Laura and Cora, of course. Stiles is actually surprised he didn’t realize it sooner. The Hales are all unfairly attractive in a kinda mean and scary way.
“You didn’t hear it from me, but I’m pretty sure he’s almost got enough punches for a free cookie,” Derek says, laugh hidden somewhere in his voice.
“What a traitor,” Stiles mutters, plotting a full week of vegetarian dishes in revenge.
“Diet is important,” Derek pulls the conversation back on track, “If you eat well, then you’ll feel better and have more energy to exercise.”
Stiles stares dubiously at Derek’s huge arm muscles. He hasn’t ruled out his theory that Derek popped out of his mother’s womb with a scowl and a six pack. Of abs, not beer. Stiles is tired just looking at the guy.
“Alright, well, good meeting. We start next week?” Stiles is already standing up, fantasizing about the family-sized Cheeto bag he hid in his underwear drawer.
“We start today,” Derek corrects, a legit smile on his face now, as if he lives for causing other people pain. Stiles only cries a little bit.
-
Stiles is dying. Like actually, this is how he’s gonna go.
“Knees higher, c’mon Stiles,” Derek says, demonstrating the right way to do high knees, which really just shows off his sexy legs. Oh boy, Stiles is gonna die.
He’s sweating in a disgusting way. He’s never sweat this much in his entire life; it’s dripping down his face a little bit. Ew.
“Back on the ground for bicycle crunches now, you’ve got this,” Derek gets on the ground to demonstrate and do the workout with him. It’s a little unfair how perfect Derek looks, with his firm abs and his symmetrical face. He’s not even panting. He hasn’t even broken a sweat. Stiles wants a refund on, like, his entire life.
This workout is taking a ridiculously long time and is exposing all of Stiles’ weaknesses. Who knew he was incapable of doing a push up? Well, Derek knows now. Which is awesome.
“Last exercise, reverse crunch, let’s finish strong” Derek says finally. He really must be some kind of sadist. “Keep your abs active, Stiles. Clench, let’s go, thrust up harder.”
“Oh my God,” Stiles whines. Derek has to be trying to sound like a porno on purpose, what the actual fuck. “I’ll thrust somewhere harder.”
Stiles is lucky that the words come out as a mumble, all slurred from his eventual death-by-exercise. Derek counts down as he finishes his last reps, so Stiles powers through. When he reaches zero, Stiles collapses in an exhausted sprawl, making some weird whale sound to try to communicate his displeasure at the entire universe right now.
“That was great, Stiles,” Derek says from somewhere overhead. Stiles squints his eyes open, trying not to think about how his shirt is wet and sticking to him. Derek is staring down at Stiles, looking just as flawless as before they worked out. He’s smiling a little bit, seeming reluctantly amused.
“Let’s do some stretches to cool down, and we can talk about how that went,” Derek reaches a hand down to help pull Stiles into a sitting position. It takes a second for Stiles to remember how to move. His arms feel kinda floppy.
With a groan, Stiles lets Derek pull him up and they sit across from each other, stretching their legs.
“So that’s a good example of a full-body, cardio workout that you can do without any equipment. If you can’t make it to the gym, it’s an excellent at-home workout. I’ll give you a list with all the exercises we did today so you can try it by yourself—at least a few times a week.”
“A few times a week?” Stiles squawks, suddenly second guessing this whole gym membership thing.
“The more you do it, the easier it’ll get,” Derek says with a serene little smile. He closes his eyes while he rolls his neck around. It’s kind of, like, sensual. Stiles tries not to stare too hard.
“Next week we’ll do some work on the weight machines, so you’ll be more comfortable if you’re ever here alone and want to use them,” Derek pops up off the ground like he didn’t just do a full cardio workout. Now that Stiles is looking closer, he can see faint sweat stains under Derek’s armpits. It makes Stiles feel a little hot for some reason, and he’s sure he’d be blushing if his face wasn’t already beet red.
“Alrighty. Thanks, dude,” Stiles says, hobbling to his feet. Dude, bro, man. Gotta keep it platonic, just in case Stiles’ body starts thinking that all the extra blood pumping is an excuse to get a little too excited in some areas. Boners. Stiles is referring to boners.
“Same time next week, dude,” Derek sounds a little mocking, but he gives Stiles a friendly pat on the shoulder and walks away with little eye crinkles. Stiles is so fucked. And not even in the fun way.
To make things even worse, Isaac laughs at him as he’s leaving, eyeing the flush on his cheeks and gross sweat drying on his body.
“Whatever, string bean,” Stiles growls, glaring at anything in the vicinity that moves. Isaac is doing a lot of moving, with his shoulders shaking in laughter.
“You called me beanstalk earlier, try something more original next time,” he calls at Stiles’ retreating back.
Stiles waits until he’s safely inside his jeep to scream.
-
Okay, so like Stiles did actually try to work out by himself in the days before his next meeting with Derek. He tried. Mostly he ended up laying on the ground and staring at the ceiling, eyeing a black spot in the corner and wondering if it was a spider or just the paint chipping off a little. He went on random walks around the neighbourhood too. Just so he could brag about it to his dad.
But by the time he’s at the gym for his next session, Stiles is just kinda hoping Derek doesn’t ask about how the workouts are going. He doesn’t really wanna see what Derek’s face looks like when he’s disappointed.
“Big Bird,” Stiles greets Isaac when he passes the front desk. He’s been brainstorming.
Derek starts him off on a treadmill, having him run for a bit just to get warmed up. And then, of course, he asks about the workouts.
“Okay so, listen,” Stiles starts, avoiding looking directly at Derek’s wince, “I really did try. It’s just, ugh. I went on walks outside, though! I’ve never walked so much in my life!”
It’s kind of a hyperbole, but Derek shouldn’t expect anything less from Stiles at this point.
“Walks are great,” Derek nods, “You could always try out running too, if you feel like that’s not enough. You’ve got the legs for it.”
Stiles trips a little bit, catching himself on the treadmill’s handle bar. He’s half tempted to ask Derek how long he’s been studying Stiles’ legs. He goes for teasing instead, “Why Derek Hale, are you calling me a cheetah?”
“Not a cheetah. More like a gazelle,” Derek smirks pressing a button to increase the incline. Stiles’ calves are getting tired, but the burn in his lungs isn’t actually that bad. Spending the past week not sitting on his ass has been good for him, Stiles thinks. Maybe Derek is right, and he would enjoy running. Stiles is just gonna ignore that gazelle comment. And never mention it to Isaac.
“Also if you’re having trouble motivating yourself, the group fitness classes here are incredible and free to members,” Derek continues.
“Do you teach any of them?” Stiles asks, a little out of breath.
Derek gets this peculiar smile on his face, “Not usually, unless an instructor can’t make it.”
Stiles nods and lets Derek drag him over to all the weight machines. Derek leads him through a pretty easy to remember routine, explaining what muscles each machine works and how many sets and reps he should be doing. Derek sets the starting weight for a lot of them, adjusting to make it heavier if it looks like Stiles isn’t struggling enough.
“I swear you like seeing me sweat through my shirt or something,” Stiles huffs out, his arms shaking.
“It’s my job,” Derek says bluntly, but he’s looking down at Stiles’ beat up sneakers almost like he’s shy.
When they’re done for the day and doing stretches, Stiles thanks him for the warning about his dad’s bakery punch card, “He didn’t say anything, but he totally knows I busted him. I stole the punch card and that free cookie will be mine.”
“Try the peanut butter ones,” Derek groaning a little when he stretches his hamstrings, “They’re my favorite. My mom always makes extra for me on special occasions.”
“Wait. You eat cookies?!” Stiles says, voice probably too loud considering all the people who glance at him from where they’re lifting free weights. Derek furrows his brows like Stiles is the biggest idiot.
“Yes?”
“But—” Stiles gestures at Derek’s rock-hard chest. His gym t-shirt is white today and Stiles can practically see through it. The guy is fit, okay. Stiles is allowed to be surprised that the guy has ever put anything that isn’t green and leafy into his body.
“My family literally owns a bakery, Stiles. Just because I exercise doesn’t mean I don’t have a sweet tooth,” Derek stands and shakes his arms out. He has a sweet tooth, oh man Stiles wants to marry him so bad. “Plus I never said you couldn’t eat cookies, I just said you should actually try eating real food with vitamins and nutrients every once and a while.”
“I dooo,” Stiles moans, kicking at Derek’s ankle weakly. The guy holds a hand out, so Stiles lets himself be yanked to his feet. Stiles thinks about the important thing he was going to say before he found out Derek was literal marriage material. Oh yeah, “And if you think I’m settling for anything less than Triple Chocolate Chunk, you are out of your mind.”
Derek snorts, giving Stiles another pat on the shoulder that lingers a bit, “See you next week.”
When he walks away, Stiles gets a good look at the wonderful things his shorts are doing to his ass. His very-much-off-limits-and-probably-uninterested ass. Stiles sighs loud enough to get a glare from some lady wearing galaxy-print leggings. It’s awful.
-
Stiles actually tries out running. It’s a horrible experience, but he feels strangely powerful when he gives up for the day—chest burning and legs shaking, but in a way that makes him feel like he could do anything. It’s enough to make him consider trying it again, but definitely not anytime this week.
Instead, Stiles tries his at-home workouts. After his second failure, he heads to the gym. He’s still traumatized by the weight machines, so he gets in the pool for a bit. It’s kinda fun to swim around, and he’s tired enough afterwards that he feels like he actually got a good workout in.
He doesn’t see Derek or Isaac while he’s there, so it’s a bust on both the flirting and the increasingly creative nickname fronts. He does warily watch a yoga class for a few minutes, feeling confident that he could definitely do all that easily. He reminds himself to check out when the next class is taking place.
By his third session with Derek, Stiles is feeling more comfortable around the gym and all the equipment in it. He’s still not sure if he’s completely on board with the whole sweating thing, but if he’s enjoying himself while he does it then Stiles can’t really bring himself to complain.
Derek has another cardio workout planned for today, though, and Stiles is complaining to the max. Complaining: Level 100. Stiles is pretty sure they’re not even halfway done, and he is already considering death.
“C’mon, Stiles,” Derek says, actually grabbing one of Stiles’ thighs to correct his form. There is a bead of sweat slowing dripping down between Stiles’ shoulder blades.
“We’re doing Spidermans now, keep your energy up.”
Stiles feels his head shoot up instinctively. “Spiderman?” he asks, interest peaked in a way that isn’t typical for him during workouts.
“I knew you’d appreciate that,” Derek says, smile in his voice, “You’ve got this, engage your core.”
Whatever the hell that means. Stiles tries to keep moving. Derek always sounds a little more excited when Stiles doesn’t give up.
“Last exercise is Up-Down Planks, keep your back straight,” Derek pushes down on Stiles’ lower back until his butt stops sticking up and his body’s all in line. It’s distracting enough that Stiles’ arms wobble and he can’t push himself up.
“It’s okay if you can’t do this one, just hold a low plank. You’re doing great,” Derek’s voice comes from somewhere behind Stiles’ ear, and it sends a little thrill down his spine. Stiles may or may not be developing a praise kink the longer he works out with Derek.
Once Derek says he can stop, Stiles throws himself into a pile of limbs. His arms feel like spaghetti noodles. Which, hey spaghetti noodle, Stiles will have to remember that for later.
“You done being dramatic?” Derek is closer than Stiles expected, breath hitting the shell of his ear. When Stiles peeks, he sees that he’s on his knees so he can lean his face down right next to Stiles. Stiles hides his sweaty face against the floor, which is actually disgusting enough to make him flop over onto his back.
“My dramatics know no bounds,” Stiles says, pushing himself up to mirror Derek’s stretching.
Derek has some paperwork to bring to the front desk, so he ends up walking there with Stiles as he’s leaving. It’s only a little embarrassing when Isaac looks at Stiles’ sweaty, flushed face and says “Well, don’t you look absolutely peachy this afternoon.”
“Thank you for the input, noodle boy.”
Yes, noodle boy. Stiles knew that was gonna be a good one.
“Be nice, you two,” Derek orders, like a reprimanding father. He’s filing some stuff without even bothering to glare at them.
“I just think it’s great that you’re suddenly so dedicated to exercise,” Isaac has that evil smirk on his face again, “You’ve been handling things so well. I’m sure we have Derek to thank for that.”
Stiles feels himself getting defensive and embarrassed at the same time, which is never a great combination, “Um, excuse you, I could handle things amazingly before Derek. He just helped me get better at it.”
Stiles lets that statement sink in for a second. Isaac looks positively gleeful, so he knows he said exactly the wrong thing. The back of Derek’s neck looks a little red.
“Also, I am like a pro at exercise now. I go for runs, and I move like a cheetah,” Stiles pretends like he doesn’t see Derek’s eye roll, “Prepare to be amazed when I walk in here one day looking like G.I. Joe. Or, actually that’s already Derek’s thing, but I’ll be looking fit as heck, Mister—Mister Daddy Long Legs.”
There’s a prolonged silence where both Derek and Isaac look at him like he’s insane. Then Isaac is cracking up like Stiles is the best thing to happen to him all day. It’s probably true; he actually puts his phone down when Stiles walks by now. Stiles thinks about what he just said.
“Okay, wait, I wasn’t—I meant you look like a—no. The spider! I wasn’t calling you Daddy,” Stiles can’t stop these stupid words from coming out of his mouth. Isaac laughs harder and Derek just glares a little, but in that way that means he’s trying not to smile. “Oh my God, I hate my life. I wouldn’t ever even call you Daddy, you’re like, such a bottom.”
Stiles smacks himself in the mouth like that’ll make him stop spewing word vomit.
Isaac schools his face and flutters his eyelashes a bit, “Who would you call Daddy then?”
He twirls in his desk chair a bit, staring at Stiles challengingly. It’s like he knows about Stiles’ big fat crush on Derek or something, that little shit. Stiles carefully doesn’t look at Derek, just flips off Isaac and runs out of there before he can say anything worse. He knows when to count his losses. Maybe.
-
Stiles ends up signing up for a yoga class, just so he can get a feel for what the group fitness classes are like. He holds up a hand immediately when he walks in and sees Isaac’s mouth open to say something.
“I don’t want to hear it, Redwood.”
There’s a pause, “Huh. That was actually a good one.”
Stiles grins before he can stop it, “I know right.”
“Context. If we were anywhere but Northern California, I’d be shaking my head,” he’s still kinda shaking his head, like it’s an automatic reaction to Stiles’ presence. Stiles doesn’t mention it.
“Gotta know your audience.”
“No, I was going to say that Derek’s in his office, if you came here to bother him.”
That suddenly sounds like a lot more fun than yoga. But Stiles is still recovering from the embarrassment of last week.
“Nah, I’ve got a yoga class.”
Isaac nods and points down the hallway towards all the fitness rooms, “Third door on the right, you’re with Erica.”
Stiles salutes him and walks backwards just so he can throw out a playful “Wow, so you’re actually capable of doing your job?”
Isaac is already looking back at his phone, putting his selective hearing to good use. The fitness room is filling up slowly. Stiles borrows a yoga mat and sets up camp near the back. There are a lot of ladies coming in, and Stiles is resigned when he ends up being the only guy in the class.
A young blond girl introduces herself as Erica and starts the class, right on time.
Yoga is… not as easy as Stiles thought it would be. His muscles actually feel like they’re being pushed to their limit, and there are a lot of positions where Stiles’ body just doesn’t bend that way. He must be unintentionally vocal about his discomfort because he gets a few chuckles and annoyed looks.
When Erica finally ends the class, Stiles lets himself just lay on his mat for a second, feeling like a wrung-out dish rag. Erica’s amused face pops into his peripheral.
“First time taking a yoga class?” she asks, an amused slant to her lips.
Stiles groans and forces himself to get up and start rolling up his mat, “I will shamelessly admit that I underestimated you. I’ve never been more aware of my lack of flexibility before.”
Erica chuckles. She helps Stiles return his mat, politely not saying anything about his shaking arms, “Hopefully we’ll see you back here again some time. I’m an instructor for most of the yoga classes, and a few Pilates ones. Just ask for Erica.”
“Oh definitely. I’m dedicated to mastering the pigeon pose. I’m Stiles, by the way.”
Erica freezes, hand hovering where she was reaching to shut off the light, “You’re Stiles?”
“Um, yep?” does Stiles have a Beacon Hills Recreation Center reputation that he doesn’t know about? He’s only been coming here for like three weeks.
“Oh my gosh, you have to meet someone,” she drags him by the elbow towards the front desk. Stiles was headed there anyways, so no big deal, probably. Isaac is gone and there’s a freakishly buff guy at the desk instead. He looks perpetually unimpressed, but his eyes light up when he sees Erica approaching.
“Boyd,” she calls, voice trembling with little giggles. She yanks Stiles until he’s standing next to her, “You’ll never believe who was in my class. This is Stiles.”
The guy—Boyd—raises his eyebrows. He gives Stiles a once-over, nodding like something is starting to make sense to him.
“Huh,” he says, eloquently.
“Wait, do you guys, like. You know me? Does Isaac talk about me or something?” Stiles shifts kind of awkwardly.
“Isaac?” Erica asks, sounding incredulous, “No—”
Boyd clears his throat pointedly, cutting Erica off. There’s a silence that lasts for just a beat too long.
“Okay then,” Stiles says, inching a little closer to the exit, “This is hella awkward, and neither of you are gonna tell me how you know about me, which is cool. Super cool, the coolest. It’s fine, I mean I’m gonna figure it out eventually and then I’m gonna find both of you and rub it in your face or something. I don’t know, I haven’t thought that far ahead yet. But it’s fine.”
Erica’s eyes have gone wide with excitement, and Boyd looks a little wary, like he thinks he might have to stop Erica from doing something crazy.
“Oh my gosh, you’re perfect,” she says on a heavy exhale. Stiles could probably make a quick dash for the door right now.
“Well, that’s. Great, I think. Thank you. For that compliment. If it was a—uh, just. I’ll just,” he gestures over his shoulder towards the sweet, sweet freedom. Where he will not be stared at by these people who have obviously been hearing rumors about him.
“Great to meet you,” he calls without looking back. He pouts all the way home. Stiles hates the gym.
-
Stiles makes a pit stop before his final session with Derek. He’s feeling pretty unabashed about the Hale’s Sweets bag in his hand, even when Isaac gives it a significant look.
“Going back to your old ways?”
“You can’t teach an old dog new tricks, Sasquatch” Stiles answers, hurrying to get to Derek’s office. He’s a little early. Only by like ten minutes, but he brought presents.
“Hey,” Derek looks up at the sounds of Stiles’ voice, brows raising in surprise. When he sees the bag in Stiles’ hand, a smile tugs the corners of his lips up.
“I come bearing gifts,” Stiles slides the bag onto Derek’s desk and sits in the same chair from when he first met Derek weeks ago. Derek pulls out the peanut butter cookie from the bag, laughing softly.
“What’s this?” he looks up at Stiles through his lashes.
“I wanted to use my dad’s punch card. Get that free cookie. I remembered you said you liked the peanut butter ones,” Stiles scratches the back of his neck.
“You used your punch card to get me a cookie?” Derek has this expression on his face that Stiles has never seen before.
“I paid for yours!” he explains quickly, “I used the punch card for my Triple Chocolate Chunk, but I just bought you one because—just, like because. I wanted to. Or something. I already ate mine, so yeah.”
With a small smile on his face, Derek breaks off a piece of cookie to throw into his mouth. He’s still looking at Stiles, “You went out of your way to get me a cookie from my own family’s bakery?”
Stiles hadn’t considered that. Oh man, that’s kind of stupid of him, isn’t it?
“I, shit. I really didn’t think of that. You can probably get one of those any time and I just. I wasn’t thinking, I just knew you liked them and thought you’d be happy if I surprised you with one.”
Stiles is kinda stressed about how dumb he is, so he almost doesn’t hear Derek say a cookie-garbled, “Exactly.”
“What?” he asks, not understanding a thing. Derek is smiling bigger now, lips struggling to stay closed, so he doesn’t flash Stiles with a mouthful of peanut butter mush.
“Thank you,” Derek says firmly, once he’s finally swallowed. He’s making eye contact and it’s a little intense.
“No biggie,” Stiles shrugs, begging his face not to blush.
Derek shows him some exercises he can do with the free weights and teaches him how to use the Stairmaster. It’s a pretty chill final session, which Stiles is grateful for because his stomach is full of cookies (he may have had three instead of just the one he told Derek about).
They stretch together afterwards. Derek keeps looking like he wants to say something, but he hesitates every time.
“So this is your last free session,” Derek says finally, “We won’t be meeting to train again unless you want to pay for more.”
“Oh,” Stiles says, thinking about how to respond to that. Does Derek expect him to pay for more personal training? Stiles is kind of an unemployed college student, so he wasn’t exactly planning on it. He doesn’t want to offend Derek or anything though.
Derek is wincing, rubbing a thumb over an eyebrow, “That wasn’t what I meant to say.”
“Okay,” Stiles waits for a second, thinking that Derek might want to say what he actually meant to say in the first place. He doesn’t. Say anything, that is. It’s fine, Stiles can talk enough for the both of them, “Thanks so much for all the help these past few weeks. I feel like I actually know what I’m doing now.”
Derek nods, “You’ve made a ton of progress. I, uh—Hopefully I’ll see you around some time.”
Neither of them says anything else for a moment. Stiles isn’t sure what he was hoping for, but he’s a little bummed that’s all Derek has to say. He’s just your personal trainer, Stiles reminds himself. He stands, before Derek has even finished all his stretches.
“Yeah, you too, man. Um, I should get going, but. Yeah,” Stiles spins and heads for the door without looking back, cursing himself for being so awkward. He’s just disappointed, is all. He obviously got his hopes up for no reason, and now must suffer the consequences. He almost wants to crawl into bed for the next week, but he just can’t. Only because Derek would be so proud if he knew he kept up with his workouts even if they’re not meeting anymore.
“Well?” Isaac asks expectantly when Stiles passes.
“Well what?” he response, stopping to look at Isaac in confusion. There’s a second where Isaac just stares, like he’s waiting for Stiles to break and say just kidding! or something.
“Idiots,” he finally mutters, rolling his eyes so far back into his head that it must hurt.
“Whatever you say, Abe Lincoln,” Stiles shoots back, already starting to walk towards the door again. What a weirdo.
-
Stiles avoids the gym for the rest of the week, but he keeps up with his exercises. They’ve gotten easier over time, and Stiles starts to enjoy the burn, the way he feels satisfied afterwards.
On Sunday, he decides to go for a run, but through the preserve this time. He likes the trails that wind through the trees, and it’s the perfect running weather today.
He’s barely jogged a quarter mile before he sees a familiar face coming the opposite direction.
“Derek?” Stiles exclaims, feeling a little more breathless than he should from just jogging.
“Stiles, hey,” Derek looks a little dumbfounded, yanking out some earbuds and coming closer to talk. He looks good—in a shirt with the sleeves ripped off, that he probably wouldn’t be allowed to wear at work. He’s got nice shoulders.
“Don’t you work out like all day already?” Stiles asks, squinting.
“Yeah?”
“And you just choose to torture yourself further in your free time?”
Derek snorts, moving in a little closer when a girl jogs by behind him. His neck is shiny with sweat, soaking into his shirt just a bit.
“I like running,” he answers, eyes darting like he can’t look at Stiles for too long. Stiles thinks really hard, wondering if the potential embarrassment is worth it.
He decides to just go for it, and asks “Want company?”
Derek smiles, like the sun coming out, and nods. He turns to follow in the direction Stiles was headed, even though he just came from that way. Despite them planning on jogging, they end up walking instead, arms brushing and looking around at the lush, green trees.
“Sorry about our last session,” Derek says belatedly. Stiles isn’t exactly sure what he’s talking about, because he’s pretty sure that he’s the one that made everything uncomfortable at the end.
“No, man. Why are you sorry? It went well, I thought,” Stiles mumbles haltingly, “You’re always pretty good at getting my heart rate up, if I’m honest.”
There’s silence, and Stiles suddenly realizes that Derek has stopped walking. He turns and finds him a few paces back.
“Does that—what do you mean by that?” Derek sounds nervous, but he’s looking Stiles right in the face. Oh boy.
Stiles could probably weasel his way out of this, if he tried to. He could pretend like he didn’t notice the double meaning, and just go back to his run, no skin off his nose at all. Derek just looks so expectant, though. And almost hopeful.
“I mean, you’re perfect,” Stiles says, choking a little on the words, “Who wouldn’t be nervous or excited every time they get to spend time with you?”
Derek looks absolutely shocked.
“Wait, you. Do you like me? Like that?”
Stiles tugs at his earlobe, a little bashfully. He kinda thought the entire universe was aware of his crush on Derek.
“Well duh.”
Derek doesn’t say anything or move any closer, so naturally Stiles makes an attempt to fill the silence.
“Sorry if that makes you uncomfortable or whatever. I kinda thought you knew for some reason? Like I got you that stupid cookie, and Isaac kept saying things—”
“Isaac was saying things to tease me,” Derek confesses. He bites his lip with his cute bunny teeth, “I’ve liked you since that first day. I couldn’t stop smiling after our session and Isaac caught on. It got worse when he told Erica and Boyd.”
“Oh God, they all knew? That… makes so much sense, actually.”
Derek is taking measured steps closer, sticks cracking under his feet.
“I was trying to be professional,” he explains, “I wanted to ask you out, but I couldn’t while I was training you. I didn’t want to cross any lines.”
When he’s close enough, Stiles throws his arms around Derek’s neck, inexplicably happy when Derek supports his weight with ease. Their faces are close, noses almost brushing.
“You’re not my trainer anymore,” Stiles says, liking the way the afternoon sunlight brightens Derek’s eyes, turning them every color there is.
“I’m not,” Derek agrees. Stiles can feel his breath right on his lips, can feel the muscled arms circle around his waist to hold him closer.
Stiles grins, no hope of containing it at all, “Wanna be my boyfriend then?”
Derek grins back—perfect mirrored happiness—and it’s answer enough.