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It was supposed to be just a quick trip to the grocery store, but Derek had learned to stop having actual expectations of anything other than murphy’s law or disasters. When he stands up, rubbing at the back of his head, he catches sight of the offender and just sighs inwardly.
Why, why is it always you? He thinks to himself, watching the sudden recognition play across Stiles’ face. It’s amazing how quickly he stops looking sorry.
~*~
Later on when he makes it back to the house he finds Erica and Boyd pretending not to have been making out in the front sitting room. He doesn’t even bat an eyelash at this point and besides he’s kind of actually not sure this is real anymore so he ignores them.
“I’m having dinner with Stiles,” he tells them, his voice sounds disbelieving. Erica quirks a brow at him and shrugs.
“Yeah?” She asks, confused.
“He’s cooking me dinner,” Derek clarifies. Erica’s face contorts into a look of incredulity.
“You’re going on a date? With Stiles?” She asks, like she’s not quite sure which is the worst part.
“What? No…it’s not a date,” he says, but it sounds pretty unconvincing.
“He wants to cook dinner for you!” Erica shouts like he’s being obtuse.
“So?” Derek scowls, unpacking the groceries hurriedly.
“Is his dad going to be there?” Boyd asks. Derek turns around but doesn’t quite meet Boyd’s eye.
“No?” Derek admits.
“And you’re assuming or you know?” Boyd questions but he’s looking like he knows the answer. Derek scowls.
“He told me!” Derek grits out with a huff, absolutely done with this line of questioning. Boyd just looks at him sort of satisfactorily and Erica pushes into his field of vision.
“Stile?” She questions again, motioning with her hands his relative height.
“Didn’t you used to like him?” Derek asks, annoyed.
“Yeah, but before all this,” she says motioning to the short skirt and tight blouse.
“Don’t pretend like you still don’t think he’s attractive,” Boyd sighs. Erica balks. Derek stalks out of the kitchen grumbling under his breath, “not a date.”
But the thing is, now that Derek thinks about it Stiles probably did mean for it to be a date. But then he reasons that it’s Stiles and he’s spent the better part of his life not asking people everyone knows he likes out on a date. But then he also reasons that Stiles is actually the most unreasonable illogical person that he knows.
Derek is standing in front of his closet realizing that none of these reasons are particularly useful at helping to choose an outfit. In the end, he settles on a pair of his favorite jeans, ones that Stiles has seen at least forty times, and a sweater he’s rarely worn.
He stands at his bathroom mirror with a palm full of hair gel poised by his head wondering what kind of statement it will make. He decides to gel his hair but glares defiantly down at his razor before stalking out of the bathroom.
He’s stares down at his cell phone for a long while and contemplates cancelling, because what if it is a date? Does he want it to be a date? Two both horrifying options if he is being honest. It’s like flipping a coin because you think you can’t make up your mind until the coin lands and you’re filled with either unexpected disappointment or a surprising sense of victory.
Derek definitely doesn’t want to flip that coin.
Besides, though Stiles is mostly really obnoxious Derek thinks he’d still probably feel really terrible about rescinding on what Derek is suddenly realizing is probably his first date. So, he’ll suck it up, Derek decides, like he’s being totally noble, taking one for the team, his charity act for the season, not at all picturing Stiles’ face when he’d offered.
Nope.
Definitely not at all thinking of the fact that he’d chosen his red undershirt because it’s Stiles’ favorite color, and he didn’t even know what Stiles’ favorite color was in the first place, in fact he’s not even convinced red is a color at all, so, really…
He’s the Alpha, Stiles is like pack-in-law, so it’s his job.
It takes Derek about three minutes after he arrives to determine that Stiles is, in fact, on a date. For one thing, he smells cleaner than Derek ever remembers, not that Stiles has a tendency to smell bad exactly, and not that Derek has a tendency to smell Stiles, either. That should be pointed out. He can’t really help it if he’s genetically predisposed to scenting. And while Derek has seen this kid absolutely master the art of flailing Derek can actually feel the nervous energy thrumming throughout the teenager, like soft vibrations through his hands and feet where they twitch and shake.
He’s actually just starting to feel a bit bad for him, second hand embarrassment and all, when Stiles practically assaults him with dinner rolls. Derek’s perfected his poker face and he plasters it across his face like neither of them saw what just happened.
Before he has a chance to say anything though Stiles is rambling about soda and fleeing from the room, and Derek just stares after him in disbelief. Derek lets slip the smile he’d been struggling to keep in check picturing the look of wide eyed horror on Stiles’ face.
The word adorable flits across the surface of Derek’s mind before he has a chance to articulate an actual response and his smile disappears rapidly.
Did he just call Stiles Stilinski adorable?
Subconsciously, he reasons, but he scowls at himself. Only just the week before Erica had been complaining to Derek that he let Stiles get away with anything and he’d reasoned that Stiles wasn’t his beta and therefore not his responsibility.
But now he’s starting to rethink all of his life choices, because he’s pretty sure he finds Stiles’ obnoxious behavior endearing, like the fact that Stiles’ is clearly pacing back and forth in his garage. Or the fact that he owns a pair of oven mitts shaped like frogs that Derek finds in the top drawer by the oven.
When he pushes them into Stiles’ hands a few minutes later and Stiles’ heart starts thumping in his chest Derek realizes with both fascination and dismay that he’s pretty sure he actually wants this to be a date.
Once Derek realizes he’s on board with this whole plan he starts to realize everything he thought he knew about his feelings for Stiles were absolute bull shit. Like when Stiles is looking at him like he’s desperate for approval over something as perfectly mundane as buffalo macaroni he wants to just reach over and pet him or something and Derek is pretty sure he doesn’t know how to date anymore, and he’s clearly been spending too much time with Stiles.
Which is obviously a problem.
At least he is the absolute antithesis of Kate Argent, Derek thinks to himself, morosely. But he compliments the meal, which isn’t really a hardship because Stiles is actually a really good cook which he finds both surprising and not.
The smile it puts across Stiles’ face makes his heart…if he were in the habit of using words like adorable he’d describe it as a flutter but he doesn’t so he absolutely would not describe it that way.
By the time dinner is over Derek wonders how much more Stiles can take before he actually just bursts out of his skin. He finds he kind of wants to find out. When Stiles suggests a movie he figures he has a green light to try.
Stiles practically breaks a hip trying to reach the couch first, he probably thinks he’s being discreet too. He’s looking up at Derek like he’s not sure if Derek is going to sit beside him or not, he can hear Stiles’ heart thumping madly beneath his shirt. He considers it for a moment, but Derek is struck suddenly with an overwhelming want, to feel Stiles pressed against him and the arm of the well-worn couch. Derek falls against the couch, his side brushing Stiles as he makes himself comfortable.
He throws an arm over the back of the couch and tries not to remember his first date, and the yawn-and-stretch move he’d performed gracefully in the darkened movie theatre with Kate. When Stiles leans back and meets the resistance of Derek’s arm he flails a bit, and the memory fades away as he smirks and grabs Stiles to try and still him.
He’s pretty sure the only reason Stiles chose this movie is because ten minutes into it his heart rate increases and he starts fidgeting nervously.
He smells like buffalo sauce and fear.
Derek actually can’t contain the laugh that escapes when Stiles, “Nopes,” beside him with a look of actual concern on his face and his heart does that not fluttery thing from earlier and he’s curling his body around Stiles, and Stiles just goes with it.
He’s warm, it’s the first thing Derek notices. Really warm. The second thing he notices is that Stiles fits easily into the crook of his arm and it doesn’t take much shifting for them to settle into an incredibly comfortable position that has Derek starting to drift off.
Stiles’ heart thumps in steady regular beats against his chest, his hand is tucked beneath his chin against Derek’s sternum. Stiles keeps bumping his toes against Derek’s where they’re stretched out on the coffee table.
He resists the urge to bury his face in the short strands of Stiles’ hair.
Derek silently commends Stiles for trying to make the first move, and he waits patiently because he thinks it would be rude of him to interrupt, but he realizes that staring soulfully into Derek’s face while looking like he both wants to kiss him or possibly flee the country is all the game plan that Stiles has. He takes pity on him, and mostly he just thinks this is a whole lot of wasted potential, and he just sort of kisses him.
He thinks it’s a bit of a shame that he’ll never get to hear Stiles speak ever again now that he was getting to actually appreciate it, because Derek is fairly certain any time that isn’t spent with Stiles mouth under his is time not well spent.
Stiles’ mouth is pliant, his weight a warm comfort against Derek as the minutes stretch on. When he feels Stiles trying to get closer, to pull himself into his lap, Derek has to muster absolutely everything in his power to force him back. He’s hard in his jeans and he can see that Stiles is the same. He wants to pull him back in, to slide his hand into the front of Stiles’ jeans and jerk him messily on the couch. But he can’t.
Because this is Stiles’ first kiss, and he’s not going to let it be Stiles’ first everything all rolled up into one evening he’ll look back on in confusion later. Derek realizes he might be further gone than he realized.
Fuck.
But they make out, curled up together on the couch, Stiles half beneath him, he traces his freckles with his fingertip as he kisses him, Stiles’ legs moving constantly, his hips stuttering in desperation even as they keep things relatively PG-13.
He kisses Stiles goodbye at the front door, and when Stiles asks about his whip cream preferences with a shy smile and a soft blush, he thinks it best to save that for another day. The spike of arousal he scents on Stiles at the implication of his silence keeps him company later that evening.