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They’ve been building up to this for years, Stiles thinks. The bickering’s a symptom of a larger cause, a deeper connection which makes Stiles’ heart ache whenever he and Derek are separated for any length of time. Everything’s there: lingering glances, hours spent together, observations which hit a little too close to home sometimes.
Or, well, almost everything’s there.
No, wait, that’s not right. Everything’s there, goddamn it. Everything he needs, anyway.
But maybe not everything Derek needs.
Stiles shoves those thoughts away and clenches his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms as he knocks on the door.
“What do you want, Stiles?” Derek barks, not even bothering to open the door. Rude.
“A date?” Stiles answers, before he can really think through his answer. From inside the apartment, Stiles hears a thump and some muffled swearing. Derek’s probably tripped over the coffee table again.
Stiles fights the urge to flinch back as Derek shoves the door open and pins him with a glare.
“Go bother someone else,” Derek growls, although Stiles can’t help but notice how he grips the doorframe just a little too tightly.
“But I’m serious,” Stiles protests, wedging himself into the doorway before Derek can slam it in his face. “We should date. It’ll be cool.”
“Cool?” Derek repeats, eyeing Stiles skeptically.
“Yeah. We can, like, watch action movies until you start complaining and then switch to The Princess Diaries for the millionth time,” Stiles replies, trying to infuse as much earnestness into his voice as possible. “And then I can steal all your popcorn.”
“Stiles…” Derek sighs, rubbing a hand over his forehead and looking impossibly tired. “Just go home.”
Stiles backtracks just quickly enough to not get shut in the door.
---
“This could be a date, you know,” Stiles says two days later, hunched over a crumbling tome which smells oddly of mothballs. “Set out a couple of candles, play some smooth jazz…”
“Not a date,” Derek replies, not taking his eyes off the map he’s squinting at.
“But it could be,” Stiles protests.
“No, it couldn’t,” Derek snaps, although he sounds oddly flustered.
“Fine, but I want it to be,” Stiles sighs, attempting his best doe-eyed look. It seems to have about a fifty percent success rate on a good day, but then again, Derek’s being more stubborn than usual – and that’s saying something.
“You’re nineteen. You don’t know what you want,” Derek replies, his tone harsh. Stiles tries to suppress a flinch, but judging by the momentarily stricken look on Derek’s face, he isn’t very successful.
“If it really bothers you that much, I’ll stop,” Stiles says after a moment, “but, for the record, you’re wrong.”
“You were in love with Lydia last week. Next week you’ll find someone else,” Derek counters, and Stiles tries not to bristle at the assertion.
“I was in love with Lydia for ten years, so don’t expect me to change my mind anytime soon,” Stiles replies, closing the book with a loud thump and standing up from the table. “Take all the time you need.”
Derek doesn’t say anything as he heads for the door. Stiles tries to not feel too hurt about it.
---
He touches himself that night. Screws his eyes shut and thinks of Derek as his hand works on his cock, thinks of dark stubble and soft lips. He gives up after half an hour, barely at a half-chub despite the vigorous stimulation, and tries not to feel like he’s already disappointed Derek.
Maybe Derek can sense it somehow, he thinks as his mind starts to go fuzzy with sleep. Does asexuality have a smell?
---
“I brought ice cream,” Stiles announces as soon as Derek opens the door. “Ice cream and The Princess Bride.”
Derek stares at him for a moment, eyes darting between the tub of mint chocolate chip and the DVD case before finally letting out a little huff and moving aside to let Stiles enter. He makes a beeline for the kitchen, grabbing a couple of bowls and then rifling around Derek’s refrigerator until he comes up with a lonely-looking bottle of chocolate syrup. When he finally makes his way back into the living room, Derek already has the movie set up, although he’s glaring at the screen like it’s personally offended him. Stiles wrinkles his nose in confusion, because it’s a very badly kept secret that The Princess Bride is Derek’s favorite movie.
“Mint chip with light chocolate syrup,” Stiles announces as he plops himself down on the couch next to Derek. There’s a respectable distance between them but Derek still scoots a little further away from him as he accepts the bowl. Stiles tries and fails not to feel a little hurt by that.
“I’d hate to see what you call heavy if this is light,” Derek snorts, looking down at the bowl warily and wiping a bit of chocolate sauce off the rim with his thumb before licking it off. Stiles’ eyes track the movement, and he thinks he’s probably supposed to find it sexy, but there’s no heat pooling low in his belly, no spark of desire.
Which, now that Stiles thinks about it, must be really fucking inconvenient for sexual people. He bites his lip to keep from giggling as he thinks of Derek popping random boners. Apparently he’s not very subtle, though, and he finds himself pinned with another patented Derek Hale glare.
“What,” Derek snaps, and it’s really not much of a question.
Stiles lets out a snort of laughter and has to bite his lip until it hurts to keep from saying, “Boners.”
“Nothing,” he finally manages, glancing back down at his ice cream and fiddling with the spoon. “Just – you know. Stupid stuff. Let’s just watch the movie.”
Derek eyes him warily, like Stiles is trying to date-attack him or something, but eventually he just nods and grabs the remote. As soon as the movie starts playing, Stiles feels himself relax again, sinking back down into the couch.
He tries to tell himself that it’s enough to just be with Derek like this. It’s almost a date, and it’s not like he wants any more than this anyway. Maybe some cuddles, a kiss on the forehead or two, but this is okay. More than okay, really.
“It’s not you,” Derek says suddenly, breaking Stiles out of the pleasant trance he’s fallen into.
“Uh, what?” Stiles asks, thrown.
“The dating thing,” Derek clarifies – not that it actually clarifies that much.
“Yeah, I have no clue what you mean,” Stiles says, frowning. Next to him, Derek looks more uncomfortable than he’s ever seen him, and he’s seen Derek writhing on the floor in pain before.
“I’m not attracted to you like that,” Derek replies, and Stiles’ heart sinks a bit.
“No, that’s cool, man,” Stiles says, forcing his tone to sound nonchalant. He’s pretty sure he’s failing miserably. “I get it. You’re not into guys.”
“I’m not into anyone,” Derek corrects.
Stiles chokes on his ice cream.
“Wait, really?” he asks, turning to Derek with wide eyes, his words garbled as he tries to swallow. “But what about Jenni – ”
“I liked her, but sex isn’t – ” Derek starts, uncomfortable.
“Oh my god, you’re perfect,” Stiles exclaims, only barely resisting the urge to fling himself at Derek. “Me too!”
“What?” Derek asks, clearly caught off guard.
“I’m asexual,” Stiles clarifies, his grin so wide it’s practically splitting his face in half.
“Asexual?” Derek repeats, the word sounding oddly foreign in his mouth.
“Yeah. You know, not feeling any sexual attraction to people,” Stiles continues, moving a little closer to Derek. “I mean, like, hugs and shit are great, but sex is meh at best.”
“But you still smell like…” Derek says awkwardly, and it takes Stiles a moment to figure out what he’s referring to, but his cheeks go bright pink when he does.
“I mean, I masturbate occasionally? Like once a month maybe?” Stiles replies, averting his eyes. “But that’s not like – I mean, I don’t think about anyone when I’m doing it, you know? It’s just kind of, you know. Sometimes it’s even relaxing, but I have, like, zero desire to actually do anything with anyone. Ever.”
“Oh,” Derek mumbles, but he seems tentatively happy.
“So yeah, if you wanna date me, you can look forward to movie nights, homemade cookies, and absolutely no sex,” Stiles concludes, hope swelling in his chest as Derek gives him a thoughtful look. “Cuddling and forehead kisses are negotiable.”
Derek stares at him for a long moment, indecision clear in his eyes and Stiles’ heart starts to sink. Maybe he misread the situation, maybe Derek’s aromantic as well, or maybe Derek just doesn’t – he doesn’t –
“Can I have some time to think about it?” Derek finally says, sounding oddly small. Stiles is a little startled by how tentative he sounds, but, then again, he’s willing to bet that he’s just drastically changed Derek’s perception of himself.
“Yeah, sure, of course,” Stiles replies, smiling softly. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“Right,” Derek says awkwardly, averting his eyes. “Thanks.”
---
There’s a knock on the front door. Stiles looks up from his reading and pulls out his earbuds before bounding over. He wrenches open the door, a greeting for Scott already on his lips, but the words die in his mouth as he sees Derek standing on the stoop.
“Here,” Derek grunts, thrusting a pint of cookies ‘n cream ice cream into Stiles’ hands, which he only barely manages not to drop.
“Wha – ?” Stiles asks, blinking at Derek in confusion.
“I didn’t think you’d want flowers,” Derek answers, looking determinedly at anywhere but Stiles, however there’s a light blush on his cheeks.
“So is this – ? Is this a yes?” Stiles asks, hope bubbling up in his chest as the ice cream starts to freeze his fingertips.
“If you’re not doing anything we could go out to the diner,” Derek says, still looking a little out of place and uncomfortable standing on the porch. “And then maybe we could… cuddle.”
“I really wanna hug you right now,” Stiles blurts out, making Derek finally look at him, blinking in surprise.
“No kissing,” Derek says firmly, but he doesn’t protest when Stiles wraps around him like an octopus, even though the cold ice cream must be pressing up against his back.
“Thanks,” Stiles murmurs against his neck, reveling in the simple warmth of Derek’s body.
“I think I should be the one saying thanks,” Derek murmurs, the tension finally leaving his body.
Stiles twines their fingers together and smiles.