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There is a man sitting next to Derek, and he is not wearing pants. The man, that is. Derek has on jeans because it's the middle of fucking winter, and he happens to be sane. Layers are key to survival in the North. Also, there are few things less sanitary than a train car in New York City. The guy's bare knee bounces against his own, matching the rhythm of whatever music must be coming through the earbuds lodged in his ears. It's a fast beat.
Derek struggles not to look. Weirdoes abound in the city. Learning to tune them out takes practice, but Derek thought he had mastered that skill. Evidently not when it comes to attractive individuals wearing Batman briefs. Whoops. He peeks again simply to confirm that yes, the stranger sitting next to him is wearing underwear featuring the Caped Crusader.
Hairy calves connect to bony knees, which lead to a pair damnable thighs. They're so white as to be nearly blinding beneath the train's fluorescent lights. Derek jerks his gaze forward. A woman sitting across from them gives him major side-eye, which is the definition of unfair. He's wearing pants! The pantless man sitting next to him is not his fault! He cannot be held accountable for accidentally looking once or twice. No court would convict him.
Normally, the two-person seat at the end of the car is a safe bet. People don't go out of their way to sit next to Derek. This is fine by him. Who wants commuters all up in their space? He wears his leather jacket, neglects to shave, and sits with his arms crossed over his chest. Instant stranger repellant. Experience teaches him not to bother with reading material. Books are an invitation for engagement. Besides which, he hates squeezing in only a few pages during a short trip and stopping mid-paragraph to disembark.
According to his sisters, some people suffer from what is termed as Bitchy Resting Face. His is evidently more of a Mulling Murder Mug though. (Real cute alliteration on the part of Laura.) He can't help his eyebrows or jawline. And maybe he presses his lips together in a menacing line, but that's because Laura teased him about his "adorable bunny teeth" for years during that vulnerable part of adolescence. The habit is permanent. Better to intimidate folks than endure them cooing over you.
Basically, Derek has every reason to be taken aback by someone electing to sit next to him. This is clearly abnormal behavior on the part of Batman Briefs. (On top of the whole no pants business.) Derek's own leg feels uncomfortably warm, as if the stranger's bare skin scalds him through the denim of his jeans.
Derek grits his teeth as Batman Briefs hums along to his music. The guy cranes his neck to peer out the window behind them. For some reason, Derek finds himself hyperaware of the distinct lack of space separating them.
Finally, Batman Briefs shifts to face forward again, fumbles at the waistband of his underwear, and then snorts as he extricates a phone from his coat pocket. Derek supposes he should take comfort in the fact that it appears that neglecting pants isn't that engrained in the man's behavior if he normally stows his phone in his pants pocket.
Derek's stop passes. He makes no move whatsoever to get up. Somewhere above ground Cora waits for him to arrive for their Sunday afternoon taco run, which had turned into a tradition a third of the way into Cora's first semester at NYU. He suffers a momentary crisis of conscience. What is he doing skipping out on Mexican with his little sister because some cute exhibitionist chose a seat next to him on the train? Not only is he a pervert, but this makes him a lousy older brother as well.
Perhaps worse than that is how he can't lie. He could try, but his family shares this innate sixth sense about the truth. When Cora inevitably pesters him, she's going to give him the third degree until he explains about this half-dressed person invading his space with incessant fidgeting and an upturned nose he can't resist sneaking peeks at and dumb moles he feels compelled to tally.
Derek's stomach growls and next to him, the guy stiffens before tilting his head in Derek's direction. Derek catches a glimpse of upraised eyebrows and the beginnings of a grin.
"That was you and not me, right?" Batman Briefs pops out the closer earbud and turns to look at him.
"Erm." Derek hopes in vain that his ears aren't pink.
"It's cool. I'm starved too. I was running late and totally forget to grab something to eat," Batman Briefs admits, running a hand through brown hair that's already messy.
"Looks like that's not the only thing you forgot." The retort earns Derek a startled bark of laughter. His subsequent surge of pride bewilders him.
"Why, whatever do you mean to imply by such a frank statement?" Batman Briefs clasps his hands to his chest in a fraudulent display of naiveté.
Derek emphatically drops his gaze to the too pale thighs bared for the entire world to behold. And then, it clicks that he is blatantly checking out a stranger's package in public, and he sort of chokes. The thin fabric doesn't leave much to the imagination. If his ears weren't flushed before, then they are now. He hates how his whole face goes red.
Batman Briefs pats him on the back, acting sympathetic. The performance might be more believable if it weren't for the soft snickering accompanying it.
"Well, I did lose my friends too." Batman Briefs subtly shifts the topics, but Derek isn't complaining. "I wasn't paying attention, and they got aboard the previous train. We had this really great moment where they saw me through the door and everything."
"I'm sure you'll find them."
Batman Briefs bobs his head up and down in agreement. "Yeah. I've texted but..." Those long-fingered hands fiddle with the cell phone.
Derek glances at the device knowledgeably. "No service."
"Right. Exactly," Batman Briefs agrees with a sheepish smile. It's obvious that he must be relatively new to the city.
"Chances are they'll survive without you for five minutes." It surprises Derek how at ease he is with this bumbling weirdo. The repertoire they're developing comes so effortlessly. He thinks that maybe his luck is taking a turn for the better. After a few more seconds, he opens his mouth to speak again but is interrupted.
"Oh, crap. This is me. Bye!"
Derek blinks as Batman Briefs darts between the closing doors and is gone. The train moves onward. Derek blinks again. He hasn't gotten a name or a number or anything. That's it. This fragile, strange thing ends before it even starts. He stares at the empty seat next to him. A lump congeals in his throat.
When the train pulls into the next station, Derek stumbles to his feet and exits. The next downtown train won't arrive for another ten minutes. Seven blocks separate his current location from the previous stop. Derek rubs his thumb along the edge of his Metrocard. Cora may forgive him for showing up late. He'll pay for her tacos and explain that he zoned out and got off a few stops late. This is a thing he could do.
Derek does something else.
He sprints seven blocks, racing around pedestrians and leaving the native New Yorkers in his dust for once. It has been a while since he let loose and simply ran. Dodging honking taxis as he disregards the Don't Walk signs isn't making this feat any easier. Cold air stabs his lungs with every inhalation. He glides on ice for a stretch of three feet, regains his balance, and keeps going.
Union Square is always a mass of writhing bodies. Crowds swell. Tourists linger. Noisy spectators congregate around street performers. New York equals velocity. It's motion and action and people.
Today is much the same...except not quite. There's a twist.
Derek must be suffering from a major case of tunnel vision not to have noticed before. Nearly everyone is pantless. The chessboard regulars aren't, and he can spy other confused faces here and there. His jeans place him firmly in the minority. Every so often new pantless souls pour up from the stairs to the subway. Someone passes him a blue pamphlet on the history of pants.
Derek turns in a slow circle, reeling as he struggles to process this latest insanity.
On the one hand, Batman Briefs is probably still here. These are evidently his pantless people. On the other hand, how the hell is Derek ever going to find him in this jovial horde of half-naked strangers? Derek realizes he didn't even register what other clothes Batman Briefs had on. This leaves him scanning underwear, helplessly searching for a black, gray, and yellow combination. He witnesses sights he'll never bleach from his brain. Thongs and an elephant and an excess of exposed, goose pimpled flesh. He literally scrutinizes crotches and asses.
People laugh. Cameras flash. It's a mob of people in their underwear with Derek lost in its center.
And then he sees the butt he has been searching for, the butt that he glimpsed before it disappeared through the train doors. It's round and encased in gray with Batman written across the cheeks. Derek hurries forward before it can vanish.
Batman Briefs isn't alone. Another guy has an arm flung around his shoulders and sports boxers patterned with hearts. With them are two girls. The red head flaunts fancy lingerie worthy of a top class brothel (not that Derek is the least bit intimate with such institutions other than what he has seen in the movies) while the brunette takes a more modest route with black boy shorts.
Derek hesitates. They clearly all know each other. The group shares a relaxed atmosphere. He catches snatches of a conversation about Starbucks and whether any of them will break the no pants rule to procure hot chocolate.
The taller girl smiles a sharp-edged threat at an approaching man armed with a camera whose gaze has fixed on the other girl's lacy posterior. He backs off quickly once he perceives the danger promised in those curved lips.
There's a cute Asian girl holding a clipboard and wearing a sandwich placard that reads "Are you missing something?" Technically, she's pantless too because leggings aren't pants according to Cora, but you cannot actually see her underwear. She smiles shyly up at Heart Boxers, who flashes a crooked, smitten grin in return.
"Hello, sir. Do you think you may be pants curious?" She taps her pen against some sort of survey that Derek can't quite make out from this distance.
"Um, yeah. I may be curious. About pants, that is," Heart Boxers replies and ducks his head bashfully when she laughs.
Derek rolls his eyes, hoping he never looks that goofy when flirting.
"Oh, hey! It's you, Hot Train Dude!" Batman Briefs pushes through the crowd toward a Derek who freezes in place. He neglected to plan this far ahead.
All too soon, Batman Briefs is right in front of him, face flushed from the cold. He wipes at the tip of his nose and beams at Derek. "Hi."
"Hi," Derek repeats, at an utter loss for words. He shuffles his weight from one foot to the other as his heart beats much too fast. What is he supposed to do with this gangly stranger in front of him, all smiles and pink cheeks?
"Did I make you miss your stop then?"
"Yes." Derek winces at his automatic honesty.
"Really?" Batman Briefs sounds hopeful, like distracting Derek to that level is a good thing. "I mean, that sucks, but it's great to see you again."
Derek doesn't confess that his stop wasn't Union Square. There's a line between coincidence and stalking. "Aren't you cold?"
"God, yes. My balls are ice cubes." Batman Briefs' hands flutter awkwardly in the air, searching for pockets that aren't there. Derek catches them in his own without thinking. Batman Briefs goes mute but doesn't shake him off.
A conga line forms nearby in record time and soon they're trapped in its convoluted coils. Derek growls softly under his breath as people jostle then. He slips a protective arm around Batman Briefs' middle, drawing him close to shield him from careless elbows and wandering hands. The human chain has a magnetic effect, and unwary souls are conscripted into the dance.
Not Derek though. Not happening. He's distinctly cognizant of Batman Briefs' hips moving to the beat of an actual jukebox someone in the crowd is blasting overhead.
"Derek! Imagine finding you here. Oh boo, you're wearing pants." Erica tuts in disappointment. Her lipstick is coordinated perfectly with her bright red panties. When she plants her hands on her hips, Derek notes that her nails are red too. He is too shocked to reply. His eyebrows make a valiant escape to the sanctuary of his hairline.
There are no words for Derek's life. New York City is a big place. Too big for this sort of twist of fate. The office belongs in the office and not strutting around in panties in Union Square. Erica isn't alone either.
"Not my choice," Boyd mouths over Erica's head, and Derek does him the favor of not looking down. He has met and exceeded the quota of witnessing coworkers in their undergarments. He's unsure if HR will understand that there were extenuating circumstances involved.
Erica notices Derek has company. She lacks any shame whatsoever as she gives said company a thorough onceover. Chances are Batman Briefs only puts up with it because Derek's still holding his waist hostage.
"Cute Batman." She smirks. "Maybe you can covert Derek to our cause. As they say, down with pants." She winks and drags away Boyd who manages the universal shrug of mortified sympathy.
"...so, that was a thing," Batman Briefs says as the duo vanish into the crowd. The conga line is still going strong, but the front and end are mercifully far off.
"Yes...sorry about that." Derek finally lets go.
"Nah, it's cool."
The temperature drops as the sky grows darker. They have reached an impasse. The silence is an awkward, tangible barrier between them.
"I should probably get back to my friends." Batman Briefs jerks a thumb toward them.
"...yeah. Probably."
Batman Briefs takes a step backwards.
"Wait." Ordinarily, Derek doesn't go in for public displays of affection. He tolerates hugs from his sisters. A noogie from his uncle earns his surliest scowl but not much more. He rather stick to the background and observe.
But for fuck's sake, he sprinted seven blocks, skipped out on tacos with Cora, and is in the middle of a mob of half-naked people. He isn't letting Batman Briefs slip through his fingers. All of that said, perhaps lunging forward and yanking a person whose name he doesn't even know yet into a kiss isn't the best way to go about initiating relationship.
Batman Briefs isn't complaining. In fact, Batman Briefs makes a soft, startled sound that is ultimately approving directly into his mouth and twining his fingers through Derek's hair. Derek takes this as a sign of encouragement. He's doing what he has been dying to do since Batman Briefs sat next to him, which involves hefting him up with his hands on that ridiculous ass and his thigh pressed between those bare, hairy legs. His fingers dig into the soft flesh, earning a muffled gasp in the process.
Someone whistles. It's enough to clue Derek into the fact that he is making out with a near stranger in the middle of Union Square. There are cameras flashing. When he breaks off the kiss, Batman Briefs gives him what may be the goofiest grin ever. They're both breathing hard. Derek is self-consciously aware of how his jeans are far too tight for his current condition.
"Wow, I've never thought of these as my totally-getting-laid-underwear, but I stand corrected."
Derek gingerly lowers Batman Briefs back to solid ground. His hands linger because the other really is cold and it seems like Derek touching every inch of him is the best solution for warming Batman Briefs up. He clears his throat. "Sorry, erm..."
"Stiles," Batman Briefs helpfully fills in. "No apology needed. It's Derek, right?"
"Right. It's nice to meet you?" Derek is mindful of something pressing into his thigh. His eyebrows draw together, and he, because he never learns, looks down. The briefs really don't hide a thing.
"Oh, man. Well. Okay. I did not plan on this happening today. I thought it'd be too cold for me, to, uh, have to worry about..." Stiles trails off.
This is Derek's fault. It's only reasonable that he takes responsibility and finds a solution.
"Hello. May my friend borrow your sign?" Derek asks in a gruff voice.
The Pro Pants girl greets him with wide eyes, which flit to his flushed companion who is not-so-subtly hiding his ailment using Derek as a human shield. (Derek struggles to ignore how there is a bona fide boner lodged against him and how Stiles props his chin on Derek's shoulder while flashing a sheepish smile.) Her mood immediately shifts from wariness to poorly concealed mirth. "Oh, of course. Us pants people have to stick together." Derek holds her clipboard for her while she draws the placard up over her head and hands it over to him.
Derek manages a quick nod of gratitude before he turns his attention to outfitting Stiles with the sandwich board. At the very least, Stiles's problem isn't on display. Every brush of hands sends a jolt through him.
Fat snowflakes start falling, causing a cheer from the assembled crowd. Derek frowns because while Stiles sticks his tongue out to catch one, there's no denying that Stiles is shivering, and Stiles's friends are whispering amongst themselves as they eye the pair of them. It's only when Stiles gives them two thumbs up that Derek thinks that maybe they won't drag him into an alley to interrogate him about his intentions.
A rumor spreads like wildfire that a nearby bar is giving out free drinks to anyone who shows up pantless. The response from the crowd is like Christmas has come eleven months early. Derek overhears Heart Boxers promising to give his free drink to the Pro Pants girl if she might do the honor of accompanying him. It would be all very romantic if it wasn't for how this is a guy courting a person while in his underwear.
Not that Derek is in any position to judge. His jeans can't bestow upon him a position of moral superiority when he is practically glued to Stiles's side...or as close as he can get without the plastic sign jabbing him. Which he is doing for Stiles's own good! The sandwich board strapped around him attracts all sorts of attention, more so than the Batman briefs did on their own. There are requests to pose for pictures, and Stiles is definitely hamming it up for all of the selfies. It's only logical that Derek attempt to discourage the scantily-clad masses.
That is why Derek somehow ends up standing outside of the rowdy bar with Stiles and his friends. The only other person wearing pants (since leggings still don't count) is the buff bouncer carding patrons.
Stiles deflates against him with a dramatic sigh. "Oh man, I should have known. Ugh. This sucks." Derek stiffens, and Stiles must catch his horrified expression because now he's laughing at his expense. "Dude, no. Not jailbait." He flashes his ID up at Derek, the birthdate confirming that Stiles is a few months short of twenty-one.
There is a brief, flurried discussion among Stiles and his friends while Derek and the Pro Pants girl stand awkwardly on the periphery. They exchange glances, and she smiles tentatively. Derek manages a quiet thank you about the sandwich board.
The group appears to come to a decision. As it turns out, the rest are legal. Stiles waves them toward the bar while declaring something about his self-sacrificial nature and how they owe him and so forth. Heart Boxers rolls his eyes as he takes the Pro Pants girl's hand to lead her inside.
The red head smirks at Derek before casually whispering just how terrible she can make his life if he dares to allow anything untoward happen to Stiles. It's actually kind of chilling, especially when the other girl waves at him in a manner that proves surprisingly threatening.
Soon, it's just Stiles and Derek on the street corner (along with the crowd lined up to get inside the bar).
"Don't mind Lydia and Allison. They'd make it fast and painless. Honest," Stiles teases, clearly knowing his friends very, very well.
"What a relief," Derek replies drily, thinking that Cora probably has first dibs on his taco-ditching ass.
One thing leads to another and on the way to his apartment, Derek buys Stiles a pretzel from a street vendor (they both like to live dangerously), which they split because they're both hungry. Later, Stiles educates him on the perks of abandoning one's pants. Which is not to say anything happens. Maybe some cuddling. Okay, a lot of cuddling. Because it's cold and they share the bed since the temperature has plummeted even lower, but only after Stiles takes a long shower to rinse away any resident germs from the subway and changes into one of Derek's shirts and a pair of pants that hang far too low on Stiles's hips. Derek will never claim that sticking to cuddling was by any means easy.
The following Sunday, Derek brings a guest to the afternoon taco fiesta with Cora. He hopes that introducing the enigma that is Stiles to his sister might explain far better than he could with words why he went MIA last weekend. He has little choice in the matter of owning up to the truth considering a photo of them making out in the middle of Union Square went viral. Stiles wears his Batman briefs for good luck.