Chapter Text
Stiles parked below his apartment, sort of annoyed that the woman in the apartment next to him parked way too close to the line, making his parking spot even smaller than it was. He could picture her complaining to him tomorrow about the parking situation, saying that he was the one parking too close to her or whatever she felt like saying. He tried not to pay attention when she started to rant, because he often didn’t like what he heard.
He locked up the Jeep, patting her hood as he walked by. He could feel the slump of his shoulders fighting against him as he trudged up the stairs to his third level apartment, not bothering with the rickety elevator that only Getrude liked to use. She also was nearing 80 and lived on the fifth floor, so he understood why she would opt for the death trap over climbing five flights of stairs.
He barely noticed the flowers until he was kicking them, his foot connecting with the base of the heavy vase. He blinked down at the flowers, sort of surprised at their presence. Derek was not the kind of guy who would randomly send flowers; if he sent a text to check on Stiles during the day, that was lucky. He was much better in person, or via creepy visits showing up randomly. If it was Derek, sitting on his doorstep, he wouldn’t have been surprised.
“To my dearest,” Stiles read off of the card, frowning at the word “dearest”. That was not a term of endearment that he typically would reserve for him and Derek, but whatever. Sometimes Derek said some stuff that was sort of ridiculous, especially if he was trying to impress Stiles or outwardly show that they were a couple.
He had been called everything from “babe” to “honeycakes” over the last six months because of Derek’s unnatural talent to have every woman (and a few men) within a fifty foot radius flocking to him. They all assumed that Stiles was his brother or merely a buddy until they took drastic measures. It was sort of no wonder why Derek felt the need to use Kate as a human shield against some of the women at his office.
People were quicker to think Derek was dating his sister than dating Stiles.
Stiles unlocked his door, shoving his way outside and kicking it shut behind himself. He put the vase on the counter, tossing away the creepy card. He didn’t need a reminder of Derek’s basic incompetency at boyfriend-hood. He would rather accept the little doodles that Derek did of Stiles, scribbled onto receipts or napkins. He kept those in a shoebox underneath his bed. He was not being creepy, he promised.
Thnx fr the flowers bb Stiles texted Derek, setting his phone down on the counter as he moved towards the fridge. He opened it up, glancing into it’s pathetic depths in the hopes that a meal would magically appear. He had a few stray takeout boxes and the rest of the quiche he made the other day.
Quiche it was.
As he put the plate in the microwave, his phone started to ring with the tones of “Hungry Like The Wolf” by Duran Duran, signalling that Derek was calling. He lifted the phone to his ear, watching his quiche rotate in the microwave. “Hey,” Stiles said, leaning back against his counter.
“What flowers?” Derek asked, cutting to the chase quickly.
“A vase? Of flowers? Left on my doorstep?” Stiles asked, frowning instantly.
“I didn’t send you flowers,” Derek said, his own confusion evident over the phone.
Stiles thought of the weird card included taped to the vase. “I knew you wouldn’t call me ‘dearest’. You’ve called me a lot of things, but not dearest,” Stiles said, popping the microwave, only half listening as he grabbed a fork out.
“Who are they from then?” Derek asked, sounding concerned.
Stiles made a noise of unsureness. “Erica? We just closed a case yesterday, so maybe she thought it’d be nice to send some flowers. Or maybe good ole Gertrude, since she seems to have warmed up to me recently. I have no clue,” Stiles said, shrugging even though Derek couldn’t see him.
“That’s still sort of weird,” Derek said, sounding unsure about the entire situation.
“I’ll ask around tomorrow,” Stiles said, sitting down on his couch with his food. “I was about to eat and watch something.”
“I’m still stuck at the office,” Derek said with a sigh. He could almost hear the way that Derek rubbed a hand over his face, clearly exhausted but not enough to take a nap in his office or tell his sister he was going home.
“Big case?” Stiles asked.
“We picked up the defense for this guy who definitely ran these people over on purpose, but they broke into his house and stole his tv from him? It’s far too messy for my own liking, and this guy is an asshole,” Derek said, his voice tired. “Should I even be telling you this?”
“It’s news to me. I’m a detective, remember? Homicide detective? I’ve got murders to solve, not burglaries and hit and runs,” Stiles said, flicking through his tv channels. He hummed as he looked, finally settling on some Brooklyn 99. Nothing better than bringing his work home with him. “I can bring you some dinner, if you’re going to be stuck there all night,” Stiles suggested.
“Laura ordered in some takeout so we can work until late. I don’t know how much more we can work on, considering the fact that this guy sucks and we shouldn’t have taken him on to begin with,” Derek murmured, his voice low on the phone.
Stiles smiled, tilting his head back against his couch. “Busy Friday? Saturday’s my only day off this week so I figured we’d have a day in,” Stiles said, thinking about how much he wanted to get Derek’s hands on him. They hadn’t seen each other in person in almost a week due to their respective caseloads. Why cases started to tick up closer to the holidays, Stiles would never know or understand.
“We’re getting drinks at our normal place Friday. Care to make an appearance before we spend a night in?” Derek asked.
Nights at their favorite bar were sort of tainted with the memory of Kate. It had been almost three weeks since Derek had officially stood up for himself and Stiles, and while she had not made an appearance, her association with the bar was not going away anytime soon. He could almost feel her pinching hands or the way she would drape herself over Derek’s shoulders as if she was dating him instead of Stiles.
The whole situation was sort of a sore spot still for Stiles. There was a lot of emotional turmoil that he still felt over the fact that Derek had let a woman control his life for so long. They had talked it through, more than Stiles really wanted to, and had come to the consensus that it was now in their past. But Derek’s own reasoning for letting her control him was to avoid other women in the office, which is understandable considering his history of assault and unwanted sexual advances. But Stiles couldn’t help but feel a guilty twinge that he let Kate do those things because he sort of liked her.
That sort of thought was immediately shoved into the back of his brain, no longer to be thought about. He couldn’t think like that, not now or in any relationship. He felt guilty even blaming a lot of Kate’s behaviors on Derek, outside of the fact that he should have been more observant about his own boyfriend and work “friend”.
“If that’s a bad idea—” Derek started.
“No, let’s do it. I just was thinking about— nevermind you don’t want to know,” Stiles said, shaking his head even though Derek couldn’t see him.
“You sure? I know you don’t like that place,” Derek said, voice soft.
Stiles kicked his feet up onto his coffee table, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “I know I’m not supposed to be having any more hard feelings regarding Kate, but I can’t help it, alright? It’s sort of fresh in my mind. And her dad scares me,” Stiles said, his quiche abandoned next to him.
“I’m sorry,” Derek said, his voice sincere. This is what he always said, and while Stiles appreciated the apology, it was not necessary at this point. He understood the guilt that Derek harbored over the situation, and he certainly was not wanting him to feel any more in this moment.
“Babe, I’m fine. Let’s go out to the bar, stay for one drink, and then we can go back to yours. I like the heated towel rack in your bathroom,” Stiles said, his eyes sliding shut.
“One day you’re going to leave me for this heated towel rack,” Derek muttered, almost exasperated.
“Your place is just so much better than mine. I need warm towels in my life. How else am I supposed to feel like my bathroom doubles as a spa?” Stiles said, smiling at the thought.
“Okay, that’s the plan,” Derek said, his voice soft. “We okay?” he asked, almost too quiet to hear.
“We’re always okay,” Stiles murmured back.
“I gotta go over this deposition again before I can leave the office. Talk later?”
“I’ll text you. Goodnight,” Stiles said.
“Goodnight.”
Stiles let the phone drop to the couch next to his now cold food. He stared at the quiche, at the way it looked half melted and almost like a pile of rubber. After this particular conversation, the quiche did not look nearly as appetizing as it did before. And it barely looked appetizing before.
Instead of bothering with the quiche, Stiles dialed the number for the nearest pizza place. He deserved it.
***
Stiles left his car in the lot, dipping into the station amongst the other busy people at 8am. He wove his way through cops sharing donuts and coffee, and the few detectives rolling in with their eyes half shut from whatever drunken stupor they drank themselves into the night before. In the bullpen he worked his way back to his and Erica’s conjoined desks, their work spilled across it in a messy pile of papers. She wasn’t sitting at her chair yet, and her signature leather jacket was missing, which meant she hadn’t made it in yet.
Clearing off a small place to put his coffee, Stiles sat heavily at his own desk. He had two new files that had joined their already alarmingly large pile of open cases, and a note on top from the unit chief regarding the closing paperwork for the last few open-shuts they had. She was far less scary than Gerard, the oldest and most renowned detective they had. Morell only looked scary.
“Hey, tiger,” Erica greeted, a paper bag tucked underneath one arm. She dropped the greasy bag onto her side of the desk, on papers that were likely more important than she was treating them.
“Sandwiches? From Dave’s?” Stiles asked, snatching up the bag before it permanently stained anything.
“The one and only,” Erica said, setting her own coffee down. She stripped her leather jacket off, the tight white shirt underneath almost obscene. “Took a detour since I was coming from Lydia’s this morning,” Erica added, winking.
“Nice,” Stiles said absently, taking one of the sandwiches out of the bag before handing it back to Erica.
“We finally had a full night to ourselves, and lemme tell you about the stamina—”
“Erica,” Stiles interrupted, holding up his hand to stop her. “I might be bi, but I’m not particularly interested in the details of your sex life. Lydia is sort of my best friend, and I introduced the two of you, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Erica said, waving him off. “Just eat, you ingrate.”
Stiles dug into his sandwich as he looked over the three new cases on his desk. Two would be fairly simple: two were open-shuts with suspects in custody, brought in the night before. All they had to do was go in and close the deal while the lab was turning back physical evidence. The third was passed along from Detective Romero, who was officially going on maternity leave. Something about a body found yesterday, washed up onto shore wearing a sexy nurse Halloween costume.
“We got a body to check,” Stiles said, flipping through the initial report. The autopsy should be done by today, leaving them not far behind on the case. “Two open-shuts to cover since there were no detectives to pick them up early this morning.”
“Let’s save the body until after I’ve digested,” Erica said, holding up her sandwich as proof. “I’ll go start one of our cases if you start the paperwork?”
“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, shaking his head. She was never going to do paperwork. He knew better than to argue about that. “Wait, quick question. Did you send flowers to my place last night?”
Erica made a face, standing. “No. Why? Did Derek send you something?”
“He says he didn’t. They were addressed, ‘To my dearest’. Weird, right?” Stiles said, half shrugging. “They’re probably from Gertrude upstairs.”
“That’s sort of weird,” Erica said, scrunching her nose up in disgust. “I’m gonna go pop some perps. Be back in a bit.”
She sauntered away, eating her greasy sandwich like a girl starved. She smiled and waved at the other detectives and cops as she passed, catching their attention between her bouncing hair, tight pants, and the way she was packing down her food. She was a girl who could eat and flirt at the same time.
Stiles started in on the paperwork, even as his mind strayed to the flowers again. He would have to walk up and ask Gertrude what was up, considering it was sort of strange to receive flowers at all. He was not the kind of guy who randomly received flowers, and he was far too paranoid to let it go. He had other detectives find themselves with a stalker because of their jobs, and he knew that was something you had to nip in the bud. There was no other way around it, really, besides figuring out if there was a stalker and immediately disuading them.
He made a face at the way the papers were all out of order. He had a lot more work to do than he thought.
***
“I’m running late,” Stiles said as he opened his apartment door for Derek. He was shirtless, the shirt he wore to work strewn on the floor in his bedroom. Ever since the first time he went out with Derek and his lawyer crew, Stiles realized that they dressed fancy. Far fancier than Stiles would bother dressing for work, and more like what Stiles would wear to testify on the stands.
While Derek had mentioned he had no obligation to change, Stiles still felt the pressure to anyway. His most expensive shirt was still less expensive than what most of the lawyers wore on the regular. Derek would dress down, often taking off his suit jacket or swapping his button up for a soft t-shirt, but it still made the scruffy jeans and the plain jackets that Stiles wore feel like garbage in comparison.
Dating someone who was well off was hard.
“You don’t have to change,” Derek said, following Stiles into his apartment. “But you also don’t have to put a shirt back on,” Derek added, his eyes raking over Stiles’ torso.
“As much as I’d like to stay in, we promised Laura that we’d make an appearance,” Stiles said, keeping his back to Derek as he moved through his options in his closet. He could feel rough hands sliding along his bare torso, and he barely blinked at the way Derek pushed up against his back. “We’re already late because you came to pick me up,” Stiles murmured, his hand sliding along a simple black button up, hoping it would be sufficient.
“Let’s ditch,” Derek murmured, kissing the sensitive spot behind Stiles’ ear. “And it doesn’t matter what shirt you wear.”
“It does matter. Peter offered to take me clothes shopping so I didn’t look so ‘pedestrian’. Whatever that means,” Stiles said, leaning back into Derek. “C’mon, let’s go hang out with your fancy friends and get Taco Bell on the way to yours.”
“Fine, fine,” Derek murmured, nipping at Stiles’ neck before backing off. He crossed his arms, biceps almost bulging out of the soft black t-shirt he was wearing. He still had his grey work slacks on, making him look almost like he walked out of the 90s fashion-wise.
“You don’t have to change either. Although I’m sort of digging the t-shirt and dress pants look,” Stiles said, shrugging on his black button up. He did up the buttons most of the way and rolled up the sleeves, not bothering to tuck it into his jeans. He didn’t have an appropriate belt to wear with a tucked in button up, and he was not going to have Peter or Malia remind him of such.
“I remember when Peter would do this all the time,” Derek said, looking down at himself. “Back when he was dating Gabriel when I was a kid.”
“Peter dated guys?” Stiles asked, glancing at his hair in the mirror. “I thought he was with some woman for a while, that’s why he has Malia.”
Derek shrugged, pulling at Stiles’ belt loops, pulling him back into his orbit. “He was with Stephanie when I was a kid, but they divorced when I was five? Six? Right after he had Malia. He dated Gabriel about a year after that, because they would take me into San Francisco for trips through the city, the two of them in Gabriel’s convertible. Must have been when I was eight? The late 90s?” Derek said, frowning in thought.
“Huh. I wonder why I never noticed,” Stiles said, pushing Derek out of his room.
“He wears deep v’s,” Derek said, trailing behind Stiles as he picked up his wallet and keys. “How did you not know.”
Stiles threw his hands up in the air, walking towards his door. “Maybe my gaydar is broken. I figured he was the kind to date a bunch of smarmy blonde women.”
“I mean he does, that’s how he got Malia. But he’s usually into men,” Derek said, following Stiles out the door. He waited patiently while Stiles locked up, checking the lock to ensure that it was well and truly shut.
The car ride over had Stiles arguing about the music. Derek only ever listened to the radio presets in his car, and despite Stiles’ insistence on getting an aux cord, Derek still hadn’t bothered. Which led Stiles to finding the best radio station, and despite the fact that it was playing 90s rock, it wasn’t keeping Derek’s attention very well. Derek liked Taylor Swift , which was sort of the opposite of everything Stiles thought about him.
“You wear flannel, of course you like grunge,” Derek muttered, trying to park in front of the bar carefully.
“I’m sorry, but Cake and Beck are definitely not grunge,” Stiles said, huffing in the passenger seat. “I like grunge, and I can tell you the exact differences. And the fact that Mudhoney is way more original and far better than Nirvana.”
“So you can talk about the nuances of 90s rock, but I can’t like Taylor Swift? Or Demi Lovato?” Derek asked, shutting the car off. He gave Stiles a pointed look, as if he knew he won his argument.
“Are you trying to out argue me? As a lawyer?” Stiles asked, playfully hitting Derek’s shoulder.
“Maybe I am. Is it working?” Derek asked, grabbing onto Stiles’ flailing arms. He crossed the console, kissing Stiles firmly for a moment before pulling away. “Don’t let my family steamroll you, okay? If you need help, find Jackson.”
“Isn’t it sort of bad that I have to cower behind Jackson when things get rough? I don’t even think he likes me,” Stiles muttered, rolling his eyes.
“He likes you. He’s bad at expressing emotions, and he hates coming out with Ethan because he’s used to getting flack about it. Treat them like it’s normal and like Ethan isn’t his first real boyfriend,” Derek said, shrugging.
Stiles could feel the nerves in his chest, settling above his lungs like they did basically every time that he hung out with Derek and his coworkers. It was hard to feel like he belonged in a group that was almost exclusively lawyers. The few people who weren’t lawyers, Stiles didn’t know very well, so it was even harder to attempt conversation. He could already feel the night slipping into something he didn’t want.
“I can see you worrying,” Derek commented, raising his eyebrows at Stiles.
“I don’t know if I belong, you know?” Stiles asked, looking down at himself. “I’m stressed about nothing. Don’t worry about me,” Stiles, pulling away so that he could get out of the car.
“It’s my job to worry about you,” Derek murmured, reaching to grab Stiles’ shoulder before he got fully out of the car. “I care more about you than you think. I’m just bad at showing it.”
Stiles let the heat of his hand seep into his shoulder for a few moments, his shoulders slumping as he took a deep breath. He could feel his whole body relaxing at the touch, and he let himself relax. He let himself think about how much Derek’s friends and family cared, even when they were being mildly insensitive. Not that he should make excuses for them, but he also found himself not always dreading his time with them.
“I know. It’s my own nerves most of the time,” Stiles muttered, shaking his head. “I can chase after bad guys and arrest murderers, but I can’t go and talk to your coworkers and family without freaking out. I’m such a bad boyfriend.” Stiles hung his head in his hands, trying to call that calmness down into his heart.
“I’ll do anything to help,” Derek murmured, his voice low in the car.
“Nothing you can do,” Stiles said, shrugging. “Let’s do it before I feel any worse,” Stiles said, straightening up, trying to feel the wave of calm that came with being a detective swell over him. He was much better when he was pretending to be someone else.
“You sure?” Derek asked, watching him carefully.
“It’s important to you, so it’s important to me,” Stiles said, nodding once before ducking out of the car. He waited for Derek to round the car, slipping his hand into Derek’s the moment that he was close enough. The warmth of Derek’s palm against his, the heat of his perpetually hot arm, was enough to have Stiles calm and ready.
The bar only ever reminded him of Kate anymore. Of the nastiness. But, he was trying to make new memories by talking with Malia about the stresses of being in charge of people, or playing darts with Isaac, or sitting at a table with Jackson and Ethan and talking about the bigotry of families and a distinct lack of support about sexuality.
“You okay?” Derek murmurs, breathing into Stiles’ ear as he pressed a second drink into Stiles’ hand.
“I thought we were doing one drink?” Stiles asked, looking down confused at the vodka soda he was holding. It wasn’t even a drink he particularly liked, all things considering.
“Laura bought another round. I told her no more after this,” Derek said, ducking to press a kiss to the side of Stiles’ jaw. “We can down them and leave?”
“Nah, I’m okay talking to Jackson and Ethan,” Stiles said, reaching up to cup Derek’s cheek. He smiled and nodded slightly, reassuring him that everything would be fine. He leaned up and kissed Derek quickly, watching him as he walked back towards the pool tables in the back, laughing at something that Laura said.
“Trouble in paradise?” Jackson asked, tapping his hand in front of Stiles to catch his attention.
“Nah. I never realized how much he was an extrovert before now,” Stiles said, turning his attention back to Ethan and Jackson. He sipped his drink, wincing at the sharpness of the vodka. He could feel his shoulders loosening because of the alcohol, but his heart was clenching at the sight of Derek laughing while holding a cue stick. He would only sacrifice himself this much for someone he really cared about.
He could still feel the same doubts he had from when Kate was involved resurfacing. He could never really be sure if Derek liked him for him, or that he would be willing to sacrifice himself so wholeheartedly the way that Stiles was willing to. Stiles wanted to give everything to make this work because he felt good with Derek, like himself. He wasn’t sure if Derek felt the same.
“So it’s a communication thing,” Ethan said, looking between the two of them. “I know a gaze of prophetic longing when I see one. You want to know if he cares as much as you do.”
“He hasn’t gotten there yet,” Jackson hissed, elbowing Ethan in the side. “We’re trying to ease him into communicating properly.”
“You’re right,” Stiles said, staring down at his drink. “I feel like we’ve had to fight an uphill battle to be together since Kate, and I really don’t know where he stands sometimes. He says he cares about me, and he really means it, but he’s bad at showing it. And I know he is. I just feel like I need—”
“Validation?” Ethan asked.
Stiles looked over at Derek, thinking about the way that a certain L word was dancing around the back of his mind, threatening to spill out when Stiles wasn’t thinking about reigning it back in. “Yeah.”
“No offense, Ethan, but you don’t hear the way that Derek talks around the office. Stiles did this, Stiles did that. Did you know Stiles can cook? Did you know he’s a great bowler? I’m busy, I have plans with Stiles. Can we end early? I have to meet up with Stiles,” Jackson said, pitching his voice a little lower as he mocked Derek’s voice.
“He says that?” Stiles asked, frowning a little bit.
Jackson rolled his eyes. “I swear he’s the most ridiculous about things. He has some picture of you as his phone background, and every time it lights up with a notification we get to see your smug face.”
This was all new information. And the reason why he liked Jackson. He might be an asshole sometimes, and Ethan wasn’t really any better, but the two of them were as honest as it came. They were the kind of people who would not bullshit you, even if they wanted to. Their honesty and integrity were admirable qualities. If they had met at a different time in a different scenario, he could see how he and Jackson wouldn’t get along.
“Huh,” Stiles said, sort of at a loss for words. Which was not a frequent occurrence, all things considered. He was sort of a talker.
“We all worry sometimes. But you’ve caught a good fish,” Ethan said, pressing his lips together.
“A fishing metaphor? You do realize we’re gay, right?” Jackson said, twisting in his seat to look at Ethan, his face screwing up.
“Gay men can fish!” Ethan protested, rearing back to put some distance between their upper bodies.
“Stiles, back me up on this. Fishing is a straight man thing,” Jackson said, waving at Stiles without actually breaking any eye contact with Ethan.
This was not a conversation or argument that Stiles was well versed in, or even wanted to be a part of. “The only time I went fishing with my dad was before I came out to him?” Stiles offered, as if that was some sort of empirical evidence.
“Ha!” Jackson said.
“Shut up,” Ethan shot back, reaching over to pinch at Jackson’s arms.
“I should let you know that I’m not the expert— oh now you’re kissing. And this is getting weird,” Stiles said, quickly getting up and leaving the table before it got any more uncomfortable.