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Stiles didn’t know how it started, really.
Or maybe he did. In fact, he totally, 100%, knew exactly how it started. The nickname that god-forbid he would have used on Derek two years ago when they’d first met, that is. But he liked to say they had a better relationship, these days. Stiles would like to say that Derek did not want to rip his throat out on a daily basis, thank you very much.
Or, maybe the man did. Here and there. Here and there and probably the first time Stiles had let such a nickname slip. He hadn’t even meant it as anything beyond a joke— and even then, he’d been sure he was going to become werewolf chow.
It was hot as hell.
The weather— only the weather. Though, Stiles didn’t mind sitting out in the heat if it meant he got to watch a bunch of shirtless werewolves wrestle out on the front lawn of the Hale house. In fact, he’d suffer just about any weather to see such a sight. Summers in Beacon Hills could be brutal, yes, but Stiles figured he could suck it up if the heat came with a show.
There was one werewolf he found himself watching exclusively, if Stiles was being honest. Not that he’d ever admit that out loud, and if Derek ever looked over, Stiles made sure his attention was anywhere else. But it wasn’t his fault that a shirtless Derek Hale was a literal godsend, okay? It wasn’t his fault and it wasn’t fair, because what else was he supposed to focus on?
Isaac-scarf-lover-Lahey? No thanks.
In the summer of his senior year, Stiles was determined to enjoy himself before he left for college. He still didn’t have much of a plan, but the threats to Beacon Hills had been quiet lately and, though suspicious, Stiles decided that he wasn’t going to stress about anything other than his next french fry meal for as long as he could.
Derek had rebuilt the Hale house during the spring and that had always been quite a nice show to watch too. But it was also nice because the man had seemed so damn proud when the house was finished. Stiles still couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Derek crack such a wide smile.
From across the lawn, Isaac hit the ground with an ‘oof’, Erica on top of him, grinning victoriously. Stiles huffed and then buried his face in his drink as Derek glanced over, the man’s eyes narrowing a little.
“Stiles!”
Stiles jolted and then looked back up, eyes wide. They widened even more as Derek gestured him over, the betas’ attentions snapping to where he sat. A small lump forming in his throat, Stiles pushed himself up and abandoned his drink, crossing the lawn nervously.
“Ah, yes, oh great Alpha of mine?”
Derek looked him up and down for a long moment, and Stiles tried not to fidget. There was a gleam in the man’s eyes that he couldn’t quite make out, but it made him uncomfortable. Derek gestured to a more open area and stepped away from where he’d been watching the betas on the sidelines. “It’s your turn.”
Stiles’s heart automatically stopped. He blinked, then stared. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly.”
“That’s— uh, that’s really not a good idea, big guy. I’m just the research dude, remember! I mean, give me a baseball bat wrapped in wolfsbane and maybe we could have a fair conversation, but…”
“Stiles,” Derek said, cutting him off. The man’s eyes glowed a little and Stiles’s heart skipped a beat. “Come over here.”
It was extremely unfair, Stiles thought, that the tables had just been turned against him. He’d been coming by to watch the betas’ training sessions all summer and while Derek had sometimes given him long, contemplative looks whenever he arrived, the man had never said anything. And what did a guy have to do to watch a few shirtless werewolves fight?
Give up his dignity, apparently.
“Oh, come on,” Stiles mumbled, moving over toward the open area. “Put me against Isaac, at least. I could take him.”
Isaac growled from the sidelines but didn’t say anything. Derek just raised an eyebrow. “Maybe next time.”
“Oh, there is so not going to be a next time. I’m lugging around my baseball bat from now on, you know. This is extremely unfair and I will be filing a complaint with the head office.”
“Uh-huh.”
Stiles frowned at that, nervously shifting from foot to foot as he faced down the Alpha werewolf. He absolutely did not stand a chance and he knew that. And Stiles knew that Derek knew that because the glimmer in the man’s eyes was definitely one of arrogant amusement.
Sometimes, Stiles wanted to punch him in the face. Especially because the look made his stomach do stupid, strange things that he did not consent to.
“Fine,” Stiles said, pushing up sleeves that did not exist. “Let’s go, grumpy-growls.”
Derek’s eyes flashed with a touch of red. Stiles yelped and tried to spin away.
Because he wasn’t a coward, okay? He’d faced down plenty of big baddies in the past and many of them had been determined to kill him, not just make him look like an idiot. But at the same time, Stiles had this deep-rooted fear of what might happen if he found himself pinned down by Derek Hale. Or, well, one that he was truly realizing now. But it was super deep-rooted— deep enough that he’d never stopped to think about it until now and to make matters worse, he was surrounded by a bunch of werewolves, dammit.
Stiles tried to spin around, thinking if he could make it to the front door of the Hale house, then he could lock Derek outside or something. Except, the man had his wrist before he could go anywhere and Stiles spun back to see Derek giving him a reproving look. The man stepped back a little, crossing his arms, which was a relief.
“Come on, Stiles. Defend yourself.”
“Uh, no. Give me a baseball bat and some wolfsbane first, you stubborn ass!”
Derek growled at that and, in a blind moment of what could possibly go wrong? Stiles decided that, you know what? Fuck Derek Hale.
He’d made better decisions before.
But still, shoving himself forward, Stiles used all the strength he probably didn’t have and tackled the man to the ground. He figured he must have taken Derek off guard because they both went spilling into the grass and Stiles scrabbed for the upper hand immediately, faintly hearing Erica rooting for him from the sidelines, but mostly focused on the startled-looking werewolf underneath him.
The moment he’d hit the ground, Derek had just gone frozen. The man looked up at him with a surprised expression on his face and Stiles grinned back, victory crashing over him in a rush of endorphins, faint terror, and slight pride.
Now— rewind back three weeks ago.
Stiles would like to back himself up by saying, first of all, it was all Erica’s fault.
It had been her turn to choose the movie for pack movie night and because she was a depraved little shit, the beta decided to check out the new, much more R-rated version of 50 Shades of Grey— 365 days. Not a single one of them was impressed by her decision, especially not Derek, because he disappeared into the kitchen and didn’t come back out.
Stiles, himself, was also not excited. But mostly because he’d never seen himself watching anything of that genre in a room full of werewolves.
As it turned out, though, he really didn’t have to worry. It was hard enough getting through the beginning of the movie but the moment a new scene opened up and the main male love interest uttered the words “are you lost, baby girl?” they all lost it.
Looking back, Stiles figured he was pretty relieved that they were all laughing so hard, because Erica ended up changing her choice to some dark thriller movie to get them all to shut up. But the funniest thing— and probably the dumbest— was when the guy said the words and they all started cracking up, Stiles was pretty sure he heard the sound of a plate shattering in the next room.
Derek came out a moment later looking a little red-faced, a brand new plate with his dinner on it in his hands. Even so, Stiles— god, he hated himself sometimes— turned around with a bright grin, and raised an eyebrow at the werewolf. Sometimes, once his brain decided to say something, there was no stopping it.
This was one of those times.
“Are you lost, baby girl?”
The sound of a plate shattering filled the air of the loft for the second time that day.
In light of Derek’s reaction— promptly stalking out of the loft and not coming back until much later that night— Stiles figured he had struck some sort of nerve. But the thing was, he’d always been good at striking nerves. Especially when nerves involved things involving Derek Hale.
And see, the second thing was, Stiles was really good at continuing to strike the same nerve over and over again. Usually, if he was being honest, until something ended up going terribly wrong.
So, despite the universe probably telling him no, Stiles had continued to slip the nickname into random conversations for the next three weeks since that one night. It never failed to make Derek react. Whether it was flashing eyes and bared teeth, or an angry red face and quick retreat, Stiles had kind of liked how quickly two words could get underneath the man’s skin.
He kind of like how quickly he could get underneath the man’s skin.
Which— snapping to current events— with Derek pinned beneath him. Stiles grinned, already knowing he was going to do something stupid, and Derek’s face did something strange as he seemed to realize that too. Stiles tilted his head.
“Did you lose, baby girl?”
Derek instantly froze up, his expression doing something strange.
But then, like the Anger emotion in the man’s head had decided to take the controls, Derek’s eyes flashed red and he flipped Stiles easily, pinning him hard into the dirt. Stiles didn’t even have a chance to yelp or fight back, finding himself immobilized easily. He blinked up at the man in surprise, a little dazed, and Derek gave him a red-eyed look, face unreadable, but there was definitely some anger in the color red.
Stiles swore his heart skipped at least three beats.
“Uh, Derek?”
Derek studied him for a long moment, not saying anything. Stiles was pretty sure none of the betas were breathing either, as if they were all waiting to see if this was the day Stiles Stilinski got his throat ripped out.
Stiles really hoped not.
But then, like the moment had shattered, Derek pushed himself up with a grunt and brushed dirt off his jeans, face clearing again. Stiles continued to just lay in the dirt, still startling flat, his head spinning about a million miles an hour.
“Today’s training is over,” Derek said gruffly, glancing over at his betas. Erica started to say something in protest, but the man quickly silenced her with a growl, looking back at Stiles only one more time before he turned back toward the Hale house, and started away.
Stiles blinked up at the sky. Then, groaning, he pushed himself up.
Isaac gave him a flat look. “Nice going, Stilinski.”
“Oh, shut up, scarf boy.”
Erica scoffed a little but Boyd didn’t say a word, just moved over and gave him a hand in climbing up to his feet. Stiles started to thank him but the beta was already turning away, following Isaac back toward the House too. Stiles hung back. And when Erica shot him a questioning look, he just shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets and pulling his best small grin.
“Yeah, you know what? I think I’m going to take the hint and head home. Nice job kicking Isaac’s ass, though.”
She grinned. “And you, Derek’s.”
Stiles attempted to laugh. “Huh. Was that really what happened?”
The girl just shrugged and hurried after Boyd. Stiles watched all three of them until he was left alone on the lawn, then ran a hand through his hair with a shaky breath. His heart was still thudding against his chest at a million miles and he wasn’t sure exactly why.
Okay, that was probably a lie. But Still.
Because, yeah, it had been a fun couple of weeks. That nickname had made it a fun couple of weeks. And honestly, there was nothing Stiles liked doing more than seeing how much he could annoy Derek Hale. Especially Derek Hale. But maybe this was one of those times when he’d managed to take it just a little too far.
“Yeah,” Stiles said to himself, shaking his head. “Nice going, Stilinski.”
He turned away from the house, starting toward where he’d parked his car. Except there was the strangest pricking between his shoulder blades and Stiles turned around once more, eyeing the Hale house.
He could’ve sworn he caught a flash of something, then,— something red, maybe— where the highest window was on the second floor. But then it was gone and his heart had finally slowed down to a normal pace, so Stiles just sighed and turned away again.
He knew exactly how this had all started.
And it was probably time for it to end.
-
The thing is, Stiles was pretty sure he was put on Earth for the sole purpose of annoying the shit out of everyone around him and maybe, sometimes, saving a life or two. He was very good at three specific things and that involved; having ADHD, cracking stupid jokes that nobody ever understood, and doing research for grumpy-growly werewolves who never said thank you.
There was probably a reason he had yet to get an actual job, he figured. Because how would any of that look on a resume?
Stiles waited a solid three days before he showed his face back at the loft. It was fair, he figured. Kind of like a grace period in which the embarrassment of it all could die down. There would be no dad jokes, no stupid movie references, no ADHD Stiles and his fabulous mouth annoying the living shit out of big bad werewolves.
So, yeah, he waited three days. Then, he went over for a pack meeting and did his best to be as normal as humanly possible.
Humanly possible for Stiles Stilinski, that is.
Not a single beta said anything when he arrived. In fact, it was like that day on the lawn had never even happened. Though, Stiles knew he would always remember the day that he was awesome enough to take down Derek Hale, a man who could literally scare off the most menacing monster with one flash of his red eyes.
Speaking of the grump, he found Derek in the kitchen, stacking pizza boxes and paper plates for dinner later. The man glanced over his shoulder as Stiles came into the kitchen and he was the first werewolf to actually react to his arrival— even though it was simple. The quick flashing of the eyes and the smallest hint of a tense muscle in his shoulders. But Derek just grunted hello and went back to his task, and Stiles swallowed, opening the fridge to rummage around for a water bottle.
“So, uh, bab—,” jesus, shit, “Sourwolf.” Stiles said. He instantly hated himself but tried to shove that emotion deep down by taking a large swig of water. “What kind of pizza are we looking at tonight? Pepperoni? Sausage? Oh god, please tell me you didn’t buy pineapple again.”
Derek gave him another glance over his shoulder, something tugging at his lips this time. “You ate it, last time.”
“Ah, yes, but I hated every bite.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Stiles made a face at him and Derek snorted, turning away again. Stiles couldn’t help but study the man’s back. There were certain days when he’d come over to the loft and find Derek in nothing but sweatpants and a t-shirt, looking like he was right at home, and this was one of them.
It always made Stiles’s stomach do strange things. Things he tried not to think too hard about.
“So...” he tried again. Because why was this so freaking awkward?
Derek just raised an eyebrow. And Stiles flailed for words for a second before giving up and grabbing the top box of pizza, turning back around toward the main room.
“This is mine now.”
“I’m pretty sure that one’s the pineapple.”
Stiles didn’t even glance back, just flipped the bird over his shoulder. He thought he heard Derek snort again.
With the summer going fairly well and the monsters tending to come monthly instead of weekly, there really wasn’t much to have a pack meeting about. So, at some point between time A and time B, Stiles found himself squished up between Erica and Isaac, which was fine until he realized the sharp pain in his side was Isaac slowly pushing his elbow further and further into his side and— godammit, he hated that beta.
Sighing, Stiles shoved himself up and glared. Isaac offered a sweet smirk back. The rest of the pack was sort of lounged on whatever else served as comfortable so Stiles found himself wandering out of the room, back into the kitchen. Except, there was no Derek there. No Derek in the rest of the loft, either, as he soon came to realize.
“Hey, idiot,” a voice called. Stiles glanced over to meet Erica’s gleaming eyes. She jerked her head toward the stairs that led up to the roof and Stiles just rolled his eyes back, but gratefully started in that direction.
The cackling at his back definitely belonged to her.
As it turned out, Derek was up on the roof.
The man was sitting near the edge so that his feet could swing over, focusing on something far beyond the clump of old warehouses that surrounded the loft. Stiles hesitated for a moment instead of moving toward him, but then Derek glanced over his shoulder, green eyes catching in the moonlight, and Stiles took a deep breath, starting forward.
It wasn’t like they’d never been alone together before. Stiles had lost count of the many missions they’d gone on together, side by side. Or all the times that Derek would swing in through his window at the most random of times, almost always scaring the shit out of him.
See, there were a lot of things that had changed since Stiles first met Derek Hale. He knew that and yet… his stomach was still a tangle of knots.
“Hey, big guy,” he said, sinking down beside the man. “Is it a brooding night or something?”
Derek shot him a flat look. Stiles grinned.
“I mean, I’m just saying. Don’t let me get in the middle of an angst fest. The betas are downstairs watching the stupidest TV show and I can always go back down to join them, if necessary. Isaac’s being a jackass though.”
“Hm.”
“Oh, don’t ‘hm’ me, Sourbutt. Speak up. What’s got you down?”
But Derek just stared at him, face unreadable. The man’s gaze traveled from his eyes to across his face, and then downward, lingering on his lips. And Stiles literally felt like his heart had dropped into his shoes, then. He nervously swallowed, attempting his best smile.
“See something you like, baby girl?”
And dammit. Dammit!
The nickname slipped out before Stiles even had a chance to stop it and he instantly snapped his mouth closed, hating himself for ruining a moment that had been going so well.
Stiles half expected Derek to shove himself up and storm away. Or maybe push him off the rooftop.
And shit, it was a long fall.
But then to his surprise and utter confusion— because that’s all it could be called— Derek shivered and took a quiet breath, the dark pupils of his eyes dilating. Stiles honestly thought he could fall off the roof right then. But not because of Derek, no. More like, because his heart had suddenly started doing random backflips and his throat felt a little too tight. He’d call it a panic attack except he was not panicking, thank you very much.
No, he was just… just… Just so fucking confused.
Stiles couldn’t remember the last time he’d been the forward one. But right now, all he wanted to do was see how many of the werewolf’s buttons he could keep pushing.
“Godammit, Derek,” Stiles said quietly. “You look so fucking pretty right now, it’s just not fair.”
“Stiles—”
Stiles paused, searching the man's face, but the word was whispered. Soft, but almost pleading. Derek closed his eyes and took another shivering breath, and then looked up at him again, something hidden and wanting in his eyes. Stiles licked his lips with a careful smile.
“You’re goddam gorgeous, you know that, right?”
The man leaned forward just a little, but hesitated a few inches away. Stiles's every thought screamed do it!
"I really want you to kiss me right now."
Derek's breaths stuttered once more. Stiles whispered a soft laugh.
“Or I could do it. But I just want you to know that my breath is probably going to taste like pineapple pizza, baby girl.”
And honestly, that probably should’ve ruined the moment. Maybe Stiles had kind of hoped it would, because maybe he was a little scared out of his mind. But then again, if it would have, he probably would've thrown himself off the roof in sheer despair.
It should've ruined the moment. He was pretty sure.
But when Stiles pressed forward to meet Derek’s lips, the man kissed him back and there was the hint of a smile at the edges of his lips.
Stiles forced back his own grin and reached up, threading his fingers through the man’s hair in an attempt to pull him closer. If he’d ever imagined it (and he totally hadn’t) Derek Hale smelled exactly like he'd expected. A faint hint of pine with the lingering scents of cologne and leather. Stiles closed his eyes and kissed the man even harder, desperately hoping that this was something that would never change, or never end.
Derek growled a little, pressing forward with just as much intensity, and Stiles wondered if he felt the same. Could he actually felt the same?
That thought escaped him the moment they both pulled back, panting slightly. Stiles felt like some part of his brain had short-circuited and Derek’s eyes were still dilated as he stared widely at him, a hint of red to the green of his them.
Somewhere in the loft below them, the sounds of the TV continued to blare.
“Oh,” Stiles said, the word slipping out. He blinked a few times, then met Derek’s gaze, his heart still doing small backflips. “Oh.”
The man studied him quietly. Stiles blinked again and then shook his head.
“Oh, that was nice.”
He couldn’t quite make out Derek’s face in the darkness, but he could have sworn that something in his expression immediately relaxed. Derek tilted his head, eyes searching Stiles’s face again, and Stiles managed a small smile.
“See something you like, ba—”
“Stiles.”
Stiles closed his mouth, grinning now. Derek studied him for a moment longer, then said softly,
“It’s nice.”
“Hm? Nice? What’s nice?”
The man gave him a flat look and Stiles snorted.
“Ah. Just in private, though?”
The man seemed to consider that for a moment and Stiles bit down on his lower lip, watching him. He’d never quite noticed before, he realized, how peace Derek Hale could look when he was just lost in his own thoughts. But then Derek shrugged.
“Sometimes.”
Stiles grinned again, then. “And sometimes not?”
“Don’t be an idiot about it.”
“Oh, come on,” Stiles said. “You know me! I am never idiotic.”
“Uh-huh.”
Stiles chewed on his lower lip and then leaned forward again, so his nose was only a few inches away from Derek’s. He liked it, he decided. How he could make Derek Hale freeze up a little with one movement, eyes snapping down to his lips again. He liked how much he could affect the man. How he could affect the man.
“Well, come on, then,” Stiles said teasingly. “Kiss me again, baby girl.”
Derek growled. Stiles laughed.
And the man did.