Chapter Text
The smell of alcohol hit him even before he climbed through the open window. Derek wrinkled his nose in disgust as he silently entered the boy’s room. There, sprawled on the covers, fast asleep and snoring loudly with his mouth open, lay Stiles. His right hand hung limply off the side of the bed, still clasping an empty bottle of scotch. Derek scowled and walked up to the bed. Not being gentle, he shook Stiles, trying to wake him.
“Wzzth?” Came the eloquent response.
“I am here. What’s the emergency?” Derek’s scowl could’ve cut through glass.
Stiles blinked up at him fuzzily, his brow furrowed.
“’Mergency? Wha?” He asked. But then realisation hit. “Oh! Yes! I needed you. V’ry bad.” The words were slurred, but hearing Stiles say that he needed him made Derek’s heart skip a beat.
“But I couldn’t say it t’you without… stuff.” Stiles waved his hands vaguely, as he tried to get off the bed without falling over. He succeeded. Somewhat.
“Alcol helps. A lot.” He nodded sagely, as if telling Derek a huge secret.
“You are drunk,” Derek stated flatly, “Underage, and drunk.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “How are you going to explain this to your father in the morning?”
“I’m not. Easy. Easy Pseasy. Peasy. Hah. Anyway. I needed the stuffscohol for couragesses.”
“What do you need courage for, Stiles?” Derek sighed.
“This.”
Still swaying slightly, the teen took a step forward. If Derek hadn’t caught him when he lost his balance, Stiles would’ve faceplanted against Derek’s chest. But, as it was, Derek did catch him. And Stiles pressed his lips against Derek’s mouth. It was horrible, Derek thought. Stiles reeked of booze. Stiles was underage. Stiles was drunk. Stiles… was in his arms. Stiles was kissing him. But before Derek could return the gesture, Stiles slipped and fell limp in Derek’s arms. The alcohol had finally gotten the better of him and he was out cold.
Derek’s upper lip pulled up in a sneer. Typical. With ease he put Stiles back in bed, pulling the covers over the sleeping boy.
During the drive back home he gingerly brushed his lips with the tips of his fingers, ignoring the somersaults his stomach was making. Stiles had kissed him.