Chapter Text
There’s no way, no way in fresh hell Stiles is heading into the depths of Kate Shephard’s ridiculously out of control garden without his shots and maybe an axe. The woman is a perfect sweetheart, all cute and petite, freckles across her nose and everything, but she’s seriously lacking the green thumb gene. The grass is almost as tall as him in places with wild thorn bushes giving the whole space a total Sleeping Beauty feel and a lot of dead weight. All it would take is the strike of a match half a mile away and the whole yard would be up in flames. Stiles winces and tries to think what he could do in the timeframe she’s given him.
Kate places a jug of iced tea in front of him now and glances up at the garden before turning to him apologetically. “I’m not a gardener but our daughter’s getting married in the spring and she asked Jack and I if she could have it here—we have the space inside but I just thought it’d be nice to do it outside...” She trailed off and took a large gulp of her tea.
Stiles smiles slightly nervously at her, mind already panicking. When Kate says spring it’s like she’s implying he has a whole year to fix this place up but no, it’s January. Nothing will grow until March and even then… “When exactly were you thinking in the spring?”
“May—” Kate wrings her hands together. “I know it’s soon but we can pay you whatever you need—you have our permission to tear the place apart!”
He gapes at her. “We won’t be tearing anything apart! We’ll have to cut some stuff back, well…” He glances at the greasewood amassing by the patio. “A lot of stuff back. But we won’t—I mean—are you sure you don’t want an indoor wedding instead?” He’s not normally one to talk his way out of a job but this is just, impossible.
Kate bites at her lip and reaches out to touch his arm and oh so not fair going all teary eyed and desperate mother on his ass. “Please Mr. Stilinski, Jesse promised us you could do a good job.”
He sighs, internally cursing his mentor and his own inability to say no to crying women. Years of knowing Lydia and Allison should have made him immune but no; he’s still a sap.
“Ok,” he says softly. “I’ll see what I can do. I’m gonna need to hire a whole team though, pull up most of the brush, the lilacs will have to go—” cursed Ceanothus growing everyfuckingwhere “—and maybe those trees.”
“That’s fine, do anything you need to,” Kate rushes out, relief spreading across her face. “We’ll be away for most of the time anyway. My son’s moving down to the Keys and we want to help.”
Stiles doesn’t comment that maybe they should spend less time moving boxes across Florida and more time mowing their own back yard but again, trying to talk himself out of a paycheck is never a good idea.
His jeep is running on sheer determination and dreams right now.
Kate goes inside to find her diary and hopefully a check book and Stiles flicks open his cell. Scott sounds sleepy when he answers and Stiles hopes he hasn’t been snoozing when he’s supposed to be overseeing the completion of their job on 54th. “Scott hey, yeah I’m just there now. No it’s not a pretty sight. I’m heading home in ten so order take out yeah? I’m going to need to eat my panic tonight. Thanks man.”
Left to his own devices he snaps a few photographs of the garden space, his mind already running through the possibilities for what he can and can’t physically do in five months. Five months. He’s pretty sure they’ve accidentally left milk in the fridge for that long before. Something had smelt gross for weeks but they never could agree on who’s milk it was. Lydia finally removed it wearing some of her badass winter gloves. Angel that she is.
Thinking of Lydia he forwards some of the pictures to her email account. She calls him back a few minutes later and laughs down the phone before hanging up.
He doesn’t know why he ever had a crush on her or why he decided working with her was a good idea. He should cut all ties with her family’s Nursery immediately.
He explains to Kate that he’ll need the afternoon to draw up a survey of the garden, tugging out his tape measure as he does so. She eyes his tracing paper warily and makes a joke about gardening being more complicated than she thought. Stiles smiles politely and tells her she has no idea.
*
Stiles appraises the team Scott has put together and resists the urge to weep. This whole venture is going to be a disaster and its only day two.
There’s a kid with a superior air about him staring menacingly at the garden like it’s personally offended him; a skinny waif who looks like he couldn’t lift his own shoes up let alone heft logs around; a guy built like a tree busy cracking his knuckles; a bored looking blonde girl who’s texting away furiously—to the point where he can’t even see her thumbs—and a brooding figure on the end Stiles is a little afraid to make eye contact with in case he accidentally offends him and ends up getting eaten or something.
Seriously, Scott?
Seriously?
Beside him Scott is bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly, clearly waiting on Stiles to issue some sort of plan or statement or inspirational speech but Stiles has… Stiles has absolutely nothing.
“So uh—”
“This place is a lost cause,” the guy who looks so unimpressed with the garden interrupts before he can even get started. Asshole.
The waif nods his head. “We should just torch the place and start all over.” The kid looks just a little bit too gleeful at the thought of getting his hands on some gasoline and a Zippo.
Pyromaniac?
Probably knowing Stiles’ luck. He makes a mental note never to let that kid out of his sight in the garden.
“You never cut and burn with a garden space!” He says in horror. “Think of the potential hazards! More than that think of the amazing plants you might never be able to find again, no no no. In fact, if you have any matches or lighters on you ditch them right now. Now! I don’t want any of you getting the urge when I’m not looking.”
Grumbling waif kid chucks a lighter at him and then flicks his fingers around like he’s missing it already. Pyro. Definitely a pyro.
“Where do you want us to start then?” asshole kid asks, shooting him a haughty look. “Because some of us have other things we could be doing.”
Stiles raises his eyebrows. “I don’t remember hiring you so you can leave if you like. If you have somewhere better you’d like to be instead of being paid to do the job Scott here’s gotten for you.”
He’s pretty sure the big guy snorts but it could have been his imagination; dude looks like if a joke approached him he’d crush it with his bare hands and then go back to meditating on a mountain top.
They glare somewhat menacingly at one another and finally the blonde kid backs down, huffing and crossing his arms. He looks five years old.
“Who are these people man?” he turns to look at his friend desperately. “Is this a joke?”
“No! Dude they all wanted the job I swear. Don’t listen to Jackson,” Scott says earnestly. “He’s going to shut up now right?” Jackson rolls his eyes but holds up his hands in a somewhat placating gesture. Stiles will take what he can get. “Oh and that’s Erica,” the blonde winks at Stiles then goes back to her phone. “Isaac,” pyro kid, Stiles silently corrects, “Boyd, and Derek.”
Tall, Dark and Permanently Brooding raises an eyebrow in acknowledgement and then folds his arms looking annoyed at himself for committing to such a sociable action.
The Incredible Hulk slash Boyd nods at him and then shoves his hands in his pockets. “Jackson does have a point though,” he says solemnly. “This space is—unbelievable,” he finishes after a second.
“Exactly!” Stiles claps his hands together making all of them bar Derek jump. “That’s the challenge guys—embrace it!” The fact that Stiles still has no idea where they should even begin doesn’t matter right now; he’s got his Braveheart face on. With the right attitude and enough profanities you can convince even the toughest crowd. “You can totally learn from this. Just think of all the experience you’re gonna get—”
“Yeah in hospital,” Jackson mutters, eyeing the long grass with trepidation. Stiles can’t exactly reprimand him seeing as he thought the same thing but he still wants to punch the guy in the face. He’s already feeling a little protective over this space.
“Obviously the first thing we need to do is clear the brush, then we can see what we’re dealing with underneath,” he steamrolls on, ignoring the interruption. “My usual team are working on a place up on 54th you can swing by and check out if you’d like—it might give you some hope.”
“Scott already showed us some photos,” Erica says nodding. “It does look pretty good.”
“Thanks, I think?”
“How long have you been doing this?” It’s the first words Dark and Brood— Derek, has spoken and Stiles is surprised by how light his voice is in contrast to his whole I-will-eat-your-soul sour face.
“I started apprenticing about eleven years ago, run this business personally for three years,” Stiles replies easily. He always gets this from new clients and employees, he looks ridiculously young, he gets it. But he’s been doing this for years and he knows his shit, loves his green stuff. He started working for Jesse Pinkman when he was fourteen and fell in love with everything horticultural. Jesse had encouraged his drawing skills when they took brakes from mowing, chopping or whatever else they were doing to encourage a fledging garden to flourish. It had felt natural to take Landscape Management as his major with a combination of planning and ecology on the side. When Jesse had decided he was bored with gardening and wanted to lead a life as a magician he’d given Stiles the keys to his van, every plan he’d ever drawn up for a garden and passed on Stiles’ number to all of his clients. They haven’t complained yet.
To say that Stiles is in his element here is an understatement. Stiles has been crawling through Wisteria and up Conifers since he’s been old enough to walk. Plants are his specialty. They keep him calm and focused like nothing else does. There’s nothing simpler than getting a garden to grow. The complicated stuff comes in when he’s trying to find space for the Spruce Mrs. White absolutely just has to have as a commemoration to her late husband when the garden’s eighteen by thirteen, oh and there has to be a bird pool as well.
Nobody said this job was easy; fun and awesome and challenging, yes, but never easy. Especially when his clients have no idea what they want specifically but would like their often horrendously over grown back yards to be magically transformed into something out of House and Garden with as little expense and time possible.
The amount of hours Stiles has spent cursing those magazines that promise lush green lawns and healthy rose gardens all year round is probably in the hundreds.
You can’t get a rose to grow in California to save your life.
He backtracks himself into the conversation and shrugs. “Got the degrees and everything so don’t worry, I’m not a kid with a dream, I’ve been doing this a while. I think today we just need to clear the junk, get a feel for the earth underneath. We can figure out what’s going to have a chance in hell in growing in four months and maybe see if we can get the area around the fence empty so we can start on borders tomorrow. But if we don’t manage all of that today which, let’s face it, this one’s going to take a while, we can—”
Scott coughs and Stiles flushes when he realises he’s still talking. “Sorry, thinking aloud.” They’re all staring at him like he’s a little nuts and he shrugs again. “I took my Adderal earlier.”
Erica nods like she gets it and then turns to face the garden. “I think we might need protective eye gear for this.” She looks quite excited at the prospect and Stiles adds to his list of mental notes to stay out of her way once she gets her hands on power tools.
Stiles raises a questioning eyebrow at her and she shrugs. “This aint my first rodeo you know.”
“Sure, sure.”
He’s so not making it out of this garden alive with these guys.
“So we can’t burn it down?” Isaac actually manages to sound both like a psycho pyromaniac and a kicked puppy at the same time and seriously, where did Scott find these guys?
He shoots his best friend a look that’s supposed to insinuate just that but Scott just blinks at him before Stiles rolls his eyes and thumbs at the van. “No we cannot. Gear’s inside.”
Boyd catches the keys (because he’s about the only one Stiles trusts to touch the vehicle housing chainsaws) before striding across the patio and towards the road.
“So!” Stiles tries to look enthusiastic and wilts under the heavy glaring he gets back. “Let’s get to work?”
*
By two they’re all sweating, dirty and feeling like they’ve accomplished very little. Stiles has probably managed to get himself burnt despite the sunscreen he’s wearing, oh and apparently Derek has abs of steel under his tee shirt because he’s stripped down to his basketball shorts and Stiles can’t. Stop. Staring.
Clearly Derek is a robot because though the sun is out and they’re working hard Stiles still isn’t warm enough to start willingly removing his clothes.
Unless maybe Derek asks him to.
Bad thoughts, bad thoughts.
Erica is, as promised, a menace with a scythe, hacking away at the grass with a satisfied gleam in her eyes, and Isaac is eyeing the bonfire they’re building with barely contained glee. Jackson has proved he can whine about anything and Boyd is the only one who seems to be able to filter him out. Zen bastard.
Scott calls them all over for a break and Stiles collapses next to him. “Kill me,” he moans. “Why did we agree to do this job?!”
They’ve managed to take out a Hawthorn bush—which what the fuck? How did it even get out here? They don’t grow anywhere this far West. Stiles is now even more suspicious of the Shephard’s and just what they’ve been doing in this garden. They’ve also managed to clear a good amount of dead leaves. The team works surprisingly quickly— convincing Stiles they’re all secret garden ninjas with super speed and strength—but they’ve still barely made a dent in the undergrowth.
Scott hands him a PB & J sandwich, pulling a face as he recalls his friend’s words from two days previously. “You said it would be a challenge like no other before and that we should leap into greatness with our mowers ready.”
He hears something sounding suspiciously like an amused snort coming from Derek’s direction but when he looks over to scowl Derek’s face is blank. He barely glances at Stiles before digging into whatever poor baby animal he’s got in his hands.
“Well, maybe I was being just a little too over-enthusiastic about how we’re gonna get to a decent endgame.”
“Did you even plan this out before you said yes?” Jackson says incredulously, wiping his face off on his Abercrombie and Fitch tee shirt. Stiles hopes the mud streaks stain.
“Yes,” he snaps irritably. “Believe it or not I don’t just go diving into whatever jungle I can get my hands on.”
This time he’s sure it’s a choked off sound from behind him but nope, Derek’s chewing away studiously when he whips his head round to check. He rolls off the bench with no grace whatsoever and storms over to the van. When he returns he unrolls his latest map of what he wants the garden to look like in a month out onto the table, slapping the one for in two months down on top of it and then dropping the next two unceremoniously in Jackson’s lap.
“Keep them,” he says crossly. “I have copies. Laminated ones.”
Jackson glowers at him but straightens out the plans and despite their cool demeanours the team huddles together, curiosity getting the better of them. Except for Derek. Who obviously can’t touch other humans without turning to dust. That or he has absolutely no interest in Stiles’ work; which works out just fine for him because he has no interest in Derek’s interests.
Stupid Derek.
“This is— Stiles these are amazing,” Erica breathes faintly.
Stiles has updated his rough stencil drawing from the first day onto proper tracing paper overlays. Each month includes inked in trees, planting areas, the edges of where he wants the borders to be and the access paths for the compost heap and the shed. He’s already started listing all the individual plants he wants to get his hands on down the sides of the maps; where the water feature will be; where he thinks a seating area would be nice. They’re still not complete but they should be enough to shut Jackson up.
Isaac nods beside her. “I wish I could draw like that.” Erica elbows him, shooting him a significant look and he rolls his eyes. “Those are different.”
“What are different?”
“Nothing,” and is Stiles seeing things or is the pyro blushing?
“Come on, show them,” Erica badgers.
Isaac seems torn for a second and then Erica huffs out an exasperated sigh, manhandles him into turning round and pulls up his tee shirt. For a second Stiles is concerned there’s going to be some sort of powerful laser beam under there or something else equally dangerous that would kill them all. But when he opens his eyes it turns out there are the inky lines of a huge tattoo stretching across Isaac’s shoulder blades and spreading right down to where his shorts hang. They’re clearly wings, arching up sharply with each individual feather having its own unique detail.
Scott stands up, eyes widening. “Cool!” He goes to touch and seriously, it’s like he’s still five years old at the museum and about to bring down a Pre-historic creature and blame it on Stiles.
He slaps at his best friend’s fingers. “No Scott! No touching another human without express permission!”
Isaac pulls down his shirt, tugging it out of Erica’s grip and shooting her a betrayed look. “They’re not that much of a—”
“He drew them himself,” Erica cuts in. “In Bio, when we were fifteen.”
Color Stiles impressed.
“You take lessons?”
Isaac shakes his head. “I wasn’t allowed to uh, draw much at home.”
“Well if you want to look at those more closely,” Stiles waves a hand at the plans. “Have at them. Just don’t change anything in pen.”
“Seriously?”
Stiles shrugs. “Sure, I’m not a crazed garden dictator here.”
Jackson barks out a laugh and Stiles is still not grown up enough to think it’s too immature to throw a chip at the guy’s head.
He brushes his hands together as Jackson squawks with indignation. “Everyone ready to start up again?”
Isaac is still pouring over the drawings and Stiles shakes his head when he goes to get up. “It’s cool, the final month still needs work—have at it. Boyd can you and Derek see what kind of damage the roots of that shorn down Beech are gonna do if we take it up altogether? Jackson you can head over to the fence with Erica, start stripping away the weeds so we can see the damage beneath.”
No doubt there will be damage. He tries to think where he can pick up a decent fence in a week and swallows. “Scott maybe you could make a few calls about a fence?”
It’s almost like they’re looking at him with new respect because after he finishes they all jump up and go their separate ways. Stiles wonders if this is how teachers do it. Let them all think you’re an idiot, then wow the shit out of them with your awesomeness and have them eating putty out of your hands.
Derek brushes past him without a word, pulling his shirt off again.
“Christ,” Stiles groans. “At least put some sunscreen on.”
“Don’t need it,” Derek retorts glancing over his shoulder to fucking smirk at Stiles before disappearing into the long grass.
Ok so maybe some people just win over your awe by stripping in front of you. Stiles is very much officially awed.
Stupid Derek and his stupid awesome back muscles.
*
A week later and Stiles is maybe rethinking his life philosophy on never giving up on a garden space. Another rouge thorn bush has taken a decent chunk out of his cheek and he’s sitting holding a towel over his face whilst Scott flutters around him looking panicked. Derek’s hovering with something close to actual concern on his face and Erica is yelling at him.
Which, so unfair seeing as he is technically her boss here.
“I told you three times I hadn’t cut it back yet what were you thinking?!”
“Hey lay off,” Scott says, clearly going for menacing and over protective as he stands in front of Stiles, his back tense.
Stiles brushes him aside because yeah, he kind of deserves to have his ass handed to him. “Look I’m sorry ok? I was just trying to lend a hand; you know that thing people do when they help out?”
Derek actually growls as he stalks forward and replaces Stiles’ bloody paper towel with a fresh one. “We might appreciate the help a little more if you didn’t then hold up work for thirty minutes because you’re stupid enough to injure yourself.”
It’s the most words Stiles has ever heard him string together and even though he’s basically used them all insulting Stiles he doesn’t care because woah—words and growling and angry faces—who knew Stiles had a kink for all of the above?
Derek rolls his eyes when he realises they’re all staring at him. “What?”
“You can form full sentences; I think we’re all a little in shock here.”
“Shut up and put the damn ice back on your face.”
“It’s cold on my hands!”
“Oh for god’s sake,” and then Derek’s taking off his shirt and wrapping it around the ice before shoving it back on his face. “Better?”
Stiles stares up at him because, um, no? He is now in pain and aroused. In front of all the people who are currently working for him.
“Are you always on the edge of your seat waiting for an excuse to get naked or do you just hate all clothes?”
Derek actually growls at him before stalking away towards the road. Stiles does not watch the muscles of his back as he walks away, no he does not.
“If you two have angry hate sex can you please film it?”
“What?! Me and Derek? We’re not going to—shut up.”
Erica rolls her eyes. “Seriously though Stiles, next time watch where you’re going.”
Stiles tries to glare at her because he’s the one with years of experience here dammit, but it hurts his face so he sighs instead and waves a hand. “Fine, I promise ok?”
The bench dips as Isaac sits beside him and silently hands him another ice pack from the box. Stiles tries to crack a smile, fails and instead sticks the very proper and official first aid style pack on his face and moans in relief. “You’re my favourite.”
Isaac shoots him a small pleased smile, tinged with worry. “You should have been wearing your stuff Stiles.”
“Yeah I know! I just wanted to get a closer look is all.”
Jackson snorts and readjusts his cap. “Now that we’ve cleared up the obvious in that Stiles is a total moron, can we get back to work?”
“You are so not getting paid,” Stiles groans, dropping his head back onto the picnic table behind him.
They all start trudging back into the garden and Stiles isn’t a hundred per cent sure but he thinks he hears a noise like someone being cuffed across the back of the head—he’s had a lot of up close and personal time with that particular noise—and Jackson then loudly complains all the way across the yard.
Stiles feels a little bit better knowing someone gets to hit that jackass without being shoved onto a pole for their trouble.
A shadow falls over his face and he sort of knows without looking who it is. When he does open his eyes he notes Derek has found one of his Flower Power tee shirts from the van and is now wearing it. It stretches fetchingly across his chest in a way it never quite does on Stiles; but no one else seems to be able to pull off the bright pink of the tee shirt like he can so he’s mildly comforted. He’s also torn between the desire to crack up and the one to find another excuse to rid Derek of the newly donned shirt. He suspects both actions would probably end badly for him so instead he tilts his head back onto the table. He can totally wait for Derek to start talking.
The silence stretches out for a moment before he snaps. “Will you stop? I know I did a stupid thing, I’ve learnt my lesson, note to self, don’t go into the long grassss!”
Derek doesn’t get the reference. Or if he does he doesn’t laugh which just proves he has zero sense of humour. Stiles opens one eye. “Dude, The Lost World? Jeff Goldblum? Dinosaurs?” He raises his arms above his head to imply large claws and then drops them back down on the bench disheartened when Derek stares blankly back at him.
“I’ve never seen any of them,” Derek says dismissively, as though the films even daring to exist without his permission deeply offend his plans for world domination and Steven Spielberg will one day pay the price for working with Tom Cruise one too many times. Ok Stiles might have lost some blood.
“Why not? They’re fucking epic.”
“I don’t watch movies that aren’t relevant.”
“Relevant to what? Life? The universe?”
“My interests, Stiles—”
“I’m fine,” Stiles interrupts, pulling the pack away. “See? Not even bleeding anymore.”
Derek looks at him for a moment, his eyes unreadable before he nods, turning away. A second later a pair of protective glasses hit him in the chest. “Fucking wear them this time,” Derek snarls as he turns away.
Stiles throws the now ice cold tee shirt at Derek’s back. “You forgot something!”
He totally doesn’t flinch as Derek slowly turns back around, whipping the tee shirt from off his shoulder—which, awesome aim for Stiles—and glowers at him.
“Thanks for the loan,” Stiles adds cheekily.
Derek tosses the shirt to the side and flips him off before disappearing into the undergrowth once more.
The dude really knows how to make an exit.
*
Three days later and Stiles has a Batman Band Aid across his cheek, stuck there by a smirking Erica and is following Lydia, who is also smirking, into one of her smaller greenhouses. The moment Jackson laid eyes on Miss Martin he’d actually puffed out his chest and started spewing out anything and everything about herbaceous borders. Facts he totally stole from Stiles and which seem to actually be impressing her. If Stiles were still twelve years old and in love with Lydia he’d have used the nearby yard hose to strangle the obnoxiousness right out of Jackson. He isn’t, thank god, and instead a grown man and therefore far more interested in watching Derek peer at Lydia’s somewhat terrifying collection of Cacti.
“These are impressive.”
Lydia glances over at him and apparently his compliment is enough to earn him a smile. Stiles wouldn’t be bothered—despite the fact it took him a whole lot longer to get her to shoot him a smile like that—only Derek fucking smiles back like it’s the easiest thing in the world and all he’s ever sent Stiles’ way is a fucking Death Glare.
Stiles kicks at the nearest Golden Barrel cactus and Lydia clucks her tongue at him. Jackson and Derek missed his petulant behaviour but both turn to stare at him like he’s an idiot as soon as Lydia makes the noise.
“What? I didn’t do anything!”
Rolling her eyes Lydia turns away, clearly dismissing him. That doesn’t seem fair either because he’s the one paying for anything they buy here but he stays sullenly silent as Lydia leads the way into the hothouse.
Stiles has to squint at the sudden dryness in the air, exhaling hard and lifting up his shirt to wipe at his face. “Christ Lyds give a guy some warning.”
He almost barrels into Derek who is, totally staring at Stiles’ chest. His eyes are flicking from where his shirt is bunched up under his chin right down to his waist and Stiles practically preens. He knows he’s in shape, maybe not as good as Derek but then who the hell is? But Stiles does a lot of heavy lifting with his job and he’s not some wiry teenager anymore; he’s got the muscle to prove it.
So maybe he stretches just a little bit before dropping his shirt back in place. He waits for Derek to meet his eye and when he does Stiles is caught off guard by the intensity of the gaze. He feels like he’s burning up and not just because Lydia keeps the temperature close to that of the sun.
They don’t say anything for what feels like the longest time. The heat of the room makes the air gauzy and pleasant. He leans languidly against the nearest bench, watching as Derek sways towards him. Stiles lowers his eyes to Derek’s mouth, slightly parted and lush. Stiles wonders what it would be like to kiss the permanent scowl off of it until he feels the stretch of a smile. He wants to know what kind of noises he could pull from Derek if he had the chance. If Derek would be loud and aggressive, maybe talk more than he does anywhere else or if he’d be quiet still and every noise Stiles could wrench from him would be like glittering praise, obscene and dirty. He thinks about dropping to his knees and wonders if Derek’s hands would grip his hair, whether they’d be rough against his cheeks, demanding and sure. Whether or not Derek could hold him up, fuck him hard against the glass and he’d feel and see everything and—
“Stiles!”
They both jump as if they’ve been electrocuted and within milliseconds Derek is stalking off behind Lydia, inspecting a Clematis Marmoraria peeking into bloom. Which, so not cool because Stiles is half fucking hard and Derek left him at the mercy of an impatient Lydia. Stupid bastard doesn’t seem at all affected and Stiles glowers at his retreating back.
Stupid hot Derek.
“Did you want to look at anything plant related today or would you just like to stare after Derek’s ass?”
“Can’t I do both?” He asks weakly and then snaps out of his daze. “I mean what? No. Of course I’m here to look at plants shut up Lydia.”
“I don’t care either way.”
“So you don’t want me to spend a small fortune in here this afternoon?”
She tugs on his arm, away from Derek and Jackson—who shoots Stiles a betrayed look like Stiles is actually choosing to be manhandled by the petite redhead here—and pulls him outside again. The contrast is enough of a slap to the face that whatever action going on south of the border shrivels and dies instantly. Derek’s furnace hot staring is a distant memory and Stiles curls up in his thin sweater.
“So you’ve been keeping me in the dark about some things.”
Lydia ploughs into the thick of her tiny Palm Oases and fixes Stiles with a look. He knows that look; he’s been having it shot his way since he once tried to ask her out and Lydia had inquired if he wouldn’t really prefer to ask Danny out instead. They’d been fifteen and Stiles had all but outgrown his crush on her and started paying far more attention to the male population of their student body but he’d figured he had nothing left to lose and had asked her anyway. She’d narrowed her eyes, made her deduction in all of about five seconds and while he’d been gawping at her, linked her arm through his and told him they could be friends anyway. And they are; Lydia is one of his very great and dear friends.
He just fucking hates that look.
He shifts from one foot to the other, shoving his hands into his jeans and avoiding eye contact.
“Don’t even think about it Stilinski.”
“I’m not even—”
“That boy is sex on a stick and from the looks of things he wants to sex you up. So why exactly aren’t the two of you having sex yet?”
Stiles blinks, swallowing thickly. “You just said sex a lot of times.”
“Did it do anything for you?”
“No, but sex with Der—” he shakes his head. “Stop it!”
She lifts a shoulder guilelessly. “Well I think you should go for it.”
“We are not talking about this anymore,” Stiles hisses at her crossly. “What if they hear you?”
“I think Jackson would be far more interested in trying to convince me to have sex with him and Derek would want both of us to go and do it far, far away so he could have his way with you against the nearest tree.”
“Lydia!”
She shoves a Golden Trumpet tree at him, still small and in its container. “This will bloom just in time for May. Please just,” she sighs and blows the hair from her face. “Put yourself out there Stiles, for once?”
Stiles bites his tongue against the myriad of reasons why he shouldn’t and then rolls his eyes. “Maybe ok? Maybe I might.”
“Call me after.”
Lydia.”
“With details.”
“LYDIA.”
*
Lydia sets them up with as many bags of mulch as they can carry. Stiles would grow some specifically for the Shephards but he just hasn’t got the time and as much as he wants this job done well, he’s not willing to part with his own precious compost. Jackson attempts to carry three bags over one shoulder and Stiles falls into Derek laughing as the blonde staggers whilst trying to continue talking to Lydia. The grimace on his face totally gives away the fact he’s probably just pulled about three billion different muscles. Lydia doesn’t seem all that impressed but then again, Lydia grows Ferocactus in her spare time so nothing short of jumping over the sun would astound her.
“You gotta give the guy props for trying,” he murmurs as he tosses his own bags in the back of the van.
Derek scoffs. “I don’t know why he’s bothering.”
“I’m surprised you’re not lifting six bags above your head to try and catch her eye seeing as you practically fangirled over her shrubs earlier.”
He doesn’t mean for what he says to sound quite so jealous. Unfortunately Derek is a bastard who catches everything and looks smug before slamming the door to the van shut. In a split second Stiles is suddenly caught between the van and Derek’s ridiculously hot, hard body and looking into his oh so handsome face. They haven’t been quite so close before and Stiles can see the way Derek’s pupils dilate, the colour impossible to pin down in the pale January sun.
“She’s not my type,” Derek says after a second of staring.
Stiles makes a pleased noise that comes out half strangled and then Derek is stalking over to Jackson and tugging one of the bags off his shoulder.
The ride back to the yard is uncomfortable for all three of them. Stiles tries to shift as inconspicuously as possible but the way Derek’s knuckles tighten on the steering wheel he notices every time. Jackson tries and fails not to wax nostalgic about what a bitch Lydia is. He’d sound more convincing if he didn’t keep trying to come up with excuses why Stiles should give him her number.
“For the last time, man, no.”
“I don’t see what the problem is seeing as you don’t want to bang her so why can’t I?”
“We did once actually,” Stiles says loftily. He grabs at the dashboard for support when the van suddenly veers towards the side of the road at the same time Jackson shrieks. “You did what?”
“Woah woah easy on the brakes man.”
“Squirrel,” Derek grunts.
Stiles raises his eyebrows. “Yeah? Well keep an eye out for other rodents; I kind of want to live to thirty.” The look Derek shoots his way makes him a little concerned he still might not.
Jackson’s pouting in the back, burning holes into the back of his skull and Stiles rolls his eyes. “I’m just screwing with you man. I have not, and most definitely never will sleep with Lydia. Lydia is a one of a kind goddess and you, do not deserve to have her number.”
“That wasn’t funny!” Jackson reaches forward and punches him in the shoulder.
Stiles thinks he’s hilarious and he doesn’t know why Derek isn’t high fiving him for getting one over on the ever irritating Jackson Whittemore. He thinks about lifting his hand and demanding one anyway but Derek keeps shooting him these I will kill you in your sleep looks so he sits on his hands and stares out the window instead.
*
For the rest of the afternoon Stiles tries to hide from both Jackson and Derek. Jackson won’t stop pestering him about Lydia and Derek seems keen to lurk in the grass and pop up to give Stiles a mix of mini heart attacks and mini hard ons. It’s a stressful kind of whiplash he’s not sure his body was made for.
Scott finds him at the end of the garden where he’s tossing mulch over the newly clear border.
“So we’re still on for Ali’s cook out tomorrow?”
“Sure man, do I need to bring anything?”
“No!” Scott’s eyes widen in panic and then he pulls an apologetic face. “I just mean after last time—”
“Hey! There was perfectly good pasta underneath that crust.”
“Stiles you almost burned our apartment down.”
Isaac looks up interestedly from where he’s plotting down fencing for Trachelospermum jasminoides. (Stiles is planning on having it blanket as much of the back wall of the garden as possible. Then maybe adding some to a trellis further up the grass; either way he needs his little stars to do their best work and repopulate like there’s Barry White playing in the garden all spring so that the place looks at least semi colourful.)
“Did you really?”
“No! Oh my god, Scott you are such a liar. The smoke alarm overreacted.”
“Stiles we could see the smoke from two blocks away.”
“Fine,” Stiles mutters crossly. “See if I care. You’ll just miss out on an old Stilinski special.”
“Erica does a really great potato salad,” Isaac offers. “Should I ask her to bring that?”
Scott nods enthusiastically. “Yeah that’d be great, thanks.”
Isaac looks quietly pleased at his own initiative and Stiles scowls. “Oh so you encourage the new people to bring food.”
“But Allison—”
Stiles whips around holding a fistful of mulch. “Ah ha! I knew this was her doing. Wily temptress stealing my best friend away and then dissing on my delicious food pfft see if I make an effort to wear pants to her damn cook out.”
“I’m not sure that would be very neighbourhood friendly,” Derek’s voice cuts in from absolutely nowhere.
Stiles jumps. “Gahhh, where did you come from?!”
Derek raises an eyebrow, a seriously sexy eyebrow, as if Stiles is the one behaving like a loon here. Then ignores Stiles’ previous question altogether. “Did you want us to finish the bonfire now or are we leaving it till Monday?”
“Leave it,” Stiles replies, eyes flitting round the garden space. It does look a little better. “I’m gonna come back on Sunday, see if I can salvage anything else before we light it.”
“Don’t do it without us,” Isaac says quickly. Then blushes and looks down at his feet. “Fire is pretty is all.”
“You’re disturbing,” Stiles tells him. “Don’t worry you won’t miss the show.” He tosses his empty bag into the wheelbarrow and whistles loudly. He sees Erica’s head peek up from the tall grass and Jackson and Boyd both pause where they’re working on chipping some of the smaller cut logs.
“We’re done for the week guys. Go home, eat something delicious—I would tell you to save your appetites for tomorrow but apparently I’m not allowed to cook so, good luck with Allison’s sorry excuse for pasta bake.”
“It’s not that bad,” Scott protests.
“Save it dude. I remember the ’09 incident in a much darker light than you because I wasn’t trying to get in her pants. There was no flavour in that thing.”
“Isn’t it a little cold for a cook out?” Erica asks as they head out to the road.
“S’tradition,” Stiles mumbles, distracted as he looks for his keys.
Wordlessly Derek passes them to him, their fingers brushing and Stiles puts all of his energy into not dropping the set on the damn ground. He’d forgotten about their moment up against the van, forcibly repressed the memory of Derek driving, his face a sharply lit profile against the weak winter sunshine.
“Thanks,” he says thickly. Derek nods, gives him the barest hint of an actual smile and then takes off down the road to where his car is waiting. Stiles wonders what he goes home to; tries not to think about who he goes home to.
Scott’s chewing on his bottom lip as Stiles climbs into the truck beside him. “Dude you know I didn’t mean anything—”
“I know,” Stiles laughs. “Relax bro, it’s cool. My cooking does leave a little to be desired.”
“But—”
“My mom couldn’t cook either; I know you know that from experience. It didn’t bother her and it doesn’t bother me.” Stiles actually kind of likes that he has that in common with his mother; he wears his disastrous chef title like a badge of honor. He’s gotten mildly better over time purely out of need and the desire not to see his dad expire with clogged up arteries due to far too many bags of fast food. But he still has very little interest in cooking in general and no desperate desire to correct that.
“Ok,” Scott shoots him a happy smile. “You wanna get take out on the way home?”
“Sure. Mexican though. I’m in mood for fajitas.”
Sitles spends the evening drawing up plans for a tiny garden in Wellsby Place and a front garden for Mrs. Seaver. She taught him English for three years and he’s a little bit tempted to carve Shakespeare quotes into her fountain out of spite. But he won’t.
…. He’s almost sure he won’t.
*
“Stiles!” Allison wraps her arms around him happily and he can’t help but grin back, bury his face in her hair for a second. He’s been friends with Allison since they were both in diapers. He’d never tell Lydia but Allison knows more about him than anyone else bar Scott. Which, in his defense, is mostly because Scott tells her all the things Stiles makes him swear he’ll take to the grave but he knows Lydia would still find a way to pout about not knowing absolutely everything about him.
He has ridiculously nosey friends he really does.
Over her shoulder he can see Lydia and Danny chatting on the low swing set, his dad grousing over gas prices with Chris Argent as they stand over the barbeque, and Mrs. Argent—whom Stiles has never ever gotten up the courage to call Victoria—sharpening a carving knife.
He groans. “Aw man does she have to do that outside?”
Allison laughs. “She only does it to scare you these days.”
“Yeah well it works,” he mutters crossly. His eyes land on where Isaac and Erica are timidly approaching the gate, eyeing the Argent’s back yard like they’re about to get struck by lightning and he waves at them. “Catch you in a bit Ali,” he calls as he jogs towards them. “Hey guys!”
Erica shoves a bowl at him. “This is for you,” she says stiffly.
“Uh, thanks? I’m not actually hosting though so if you want we can go give it to Allison’s mom.”
“No!” Erica says quickly.
Isaac snorts behind her and she jabs an elbow in his stomach.
Stiles lifts an eyebrow at the pair of them. “What?”
“Erica’s afraid of her. She was a teacher at school when we were there.” Stiles remembers feeling vehemently relieved he’d just graduated when Mrs. Argent joined the teacher roll.
“Shut up,” Erica hisses at him, her face going rosy. “We weren’t even going to come but Scott looked so damn sad when I said we had plans. Stupid puppy dog eyes.”
“I’ve been there,” Stiles sympathizes. “They catch you off guard right?” Erica nods emphatically, glowering in Scott’s general direction.
Scott spots them and goes to wave but his smile dies when he sees Erica’s glare and he slides slightly to the left so that Allison’s in front of him.
Stiles snorts and rolls his eyes. “Come on, we can go put it on the table together. I promise Mrs. Argent won’t bite.”
They both follow him cautiously. Erica seems to be on the look out for trip wires and Isaac looks just a little bit afraid of people in general. Stiles is at a loss for what to do with them until he spots his dad grabbing a beer from the cooler and heads in his direction.
“Dad!” He can trust his dad to talk anyone down off a ledge. “Dad hey, this is Erica and Isaac—”
“Lahey and Reyes,” his dad interrupts looking amused. Erica and Isaac look like they want to die.
Stiles blinks in confusion. “You guys know each other?”
“Oh yeah we go way back,” he smirks. “Been driving these two home from all kinds of trouble since they were about fifteen.”
Ok so maybe this chat with his dad will be the catalyst into both Isaac and Erica jumping off the damn cliff.
Fortunately his dad grins and sticks his hand out to Isaac. “Glad to see you’ve started doing something a bit more responsible with your time rather than graffiting Coach Finstock’s car.”
Stiles lets out a laugh as Isaac flushes red. “Oh my god dude you didn’t?”
“It was Erica’s idea!”
“Tell-tale,” Erica hisses at him before sticking her chin out defiantly. “Sheriff, he used to suggest our gym teacher have us do suicides in December—he totally had it coming.”
Stiles spots his father lifting his eyebrows and jumps in. “Does he still do that Bill Pullman speech from Independence Day?”
Isaac grins, embarrassment forgotten. “Yeah, he even wore an old pilot’s hat for our last game of the season senior year.”
“Oh, that’s brilliant, ah man.” He scratches at his shirt as he reminisces. “I haven’t been back to school in years.”
“It hasn’t changed much.”
“So what are you doing now you’re free of education?” the Sheriff drawls looking at Erica.
She rolls her eyes as if he’s not the only adult who asks her this on the regular. “Considering my options,” she says eventually.
Stiles takes flight leaving his dad to lecture someone other than him on their future. He wants to get his hands on a decent piece of steak before he can stomach going to sit with Lydia for his cross examination of all things Derek Hale. She’s been eyeing him for the last ten minutes like she’s waiting for a chance to pounce. He’s kind of hoping Danny will keep her distracted for a while longer talking about the job he’s working with Stiles’ regular crew. He’s not ready to admit all that’s happened between him and Derek is a whole lot of staring and no actual contact.
She’d be so disappointed in him.
Which of course is when he walks smack bang into a firm chest and sees he’s barged right into previously mentioned Derek Hale.
“Dude shit sorry!”
Derek grunts and throws out an arm to steady them both. Stiles straightens up to smile gratefully. “I’m a menace.” Derek makes a noise that might be agreement, eyes travelling from Stiles’ black jeans and up across his chest. Stiles feels oddly like he’s being checked out. He glances down to see Derek’s clutching a blue patterned bowl and he laughs. “Did you make something?”
“No,” Derek replies sulkily. “Laura did.”
He fucking knew there was a girlfriend. He can feel something similar to lead settling in his stomach and he swallows thickly. “Laura?”
“The very best sister a boy could ever dream of having,” a raspy voice says from behind Derek.
And oh.
Derek shoots Stiles what might be an apologetic look but seems wildly more desperate as an arm hooks over his shoulders and a petite brunette kinks an eyebrow at him. “So you’re Stiles?”
“Uh yes ah—how did you know that?”
Laura smiles at him dangerously, dimples coming out in full force and for fuck’s sake the genetics in this family are just not fair. “Oh lucky guess.”
“She teaches with Allison,” Derek mutters, still looking for all the world like he doesn’t want to be anywhere near the Argent’s backyard.
Dramatically, Laura sighs. “I wanted him to think I had amazing intuition jackass.” She cuffs him on the back of the head and Stiles watches incredulously, biting down on his lip to prevent himself from laughing. Derek catches him smirking and narrows his eyes crossly, Stiles holds up his hands quickly and grins. “So, it was lovely to meet you Laura, but I think I hear Danny calling my name and—”
“Oh I don’t think so,” Laura’s hand snakes out of nowhere and she clamps it around his bicep. “I want to hear all about this garden you’ve got my baby brother working so hard for.”
Stiles widens his eyes desperately at Derek who’s suddenly looking a lot more cheerful and Stiles swears deep, terrible vengeance. Maybe he’ll have Derek sweep the whole bonfire up himself on Tuesday. HA. That’ll teach him to leave Stiles with scarily strong women related to him.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he puffs as Laura oh- so- casually guides him through the garden to an empty bench, smiling sunnily at everyone they pass. “The manhandling thing is totally hot, I can vouch for you with my guy friends I swear but uh—what’s the deal here? Did Derek ask you to kill me quietly?”
Laura snorts, deposits him on the bench and sits herself, crossing her legs. “Don’t be ridiculous. Derek certainly doesn’t want you dead.”
“Huh, he must accidentally give off that impression to a lot of people then.”
“No for most people it’s on purpose,” she says looking highly amused. She flips her hair over one shoulder and fixes him with a scrutinising gaze. “So.”
“So,” he echoes feeling like he’s about to be grilled like the chops on the barbeque.
“How old are you Stiles?”
“How old are you?”
She lifts her eyebrows in amusement. She’s a little like Derek with the eyebrows doing a lot of her conversation for her and a lot like Lydia in that she seems like she already knows exactly what Stiles is thinking before he’s even though it.
It’s just wholly terrifying.
“I’m twenty nine, two years older than Derek but far wiser than he’ll ever be.”
Stiles is torn because making any comment implying he thinks Derek isn’t wise might get back to him and he could find himself taped up a tree tomorrow morning but implying he thinks he is wise might just, imply Stiles thinks about Derek at all. He settles for giving her a pained smile.
Laura appraises him for a second and then leans her arm against the back of the bench, resting her chin on her hand. “Allison says you always wanted to be a gardener.”
“One of the only things she will ever tell you that you should believe.”
She quirks a smile at him. “Of course. And you studied at?”
“Berkeley.”
“Where you—”
“I got a Bachelor of Arts in Landscape Design but why do I already feel like you knew that?”
“I’m psychic,” she says grinning. “I told you so.”
“You smile more than Derek.”
“Everyone smiles more than Derek. So did you enjoy your time at Berkeley?”
“I—uh yeah I guess? I learnt a lot, I mean—is this a test?”
“No, of course not! I just wanted to learn a little more about the infamous Stiles—that’s not your real name is it?”
Stiles shifts uncomfortably. “It’s the name I go by.”
Laura gives him a long, assessing look. “I guess it suits you. Do you have a girlfriend Stiles?”
“No,” he tugs at the collar of his sweater suddenly feeling far too hot. “Look uh, you seem very nice and I’m honestly a little bewildered at the attention, flattered,” he adds quickly. “Also kind of terrified but I don’t—”
“Stiles,” Laura laughs suddenly. “I’m not hitting on you.”
“Oh,” he exhales sharply. “Thank god because I have no idea how I would have handled that. Derek would probably castrate me for rejecting you.”
“Oh Stiles, that is the last thing Derek would want to do to you.” Laura reaches out and ruffles his hair. “I like you. I think we’re going to be friends.”
“I—yay I think?”
She stands and pulls him up. “When you’re finished with your current project my back garden could probably use a little sprucing up. Maybe you could come take a look at it some time?”
“That’s not an innuendo right?”
“No, I could have come up with a better one than that please, give me some credit.”
“Then sure,” he says warily. “Get Derek to give me the address and I’ll find you some time maybe towards the end of next week?”
“Excellent,” she smiles widely and then saunters off up the garden.
He’s more than a little afraid the Hale family are planning some sort of double team murder and that his body will never be found.
Stiles collapses at the table where Derek and Boyd are eating in a strange yet seemingly companionable silence and glares at the top of Derek’s head. As if feeling his gaze Derek tilts his head to raise a questioning eyebrow at him. “Oh you know,” Stiles huffs out crossly. “You know.”
Derek smirks and then goes back to eating.
Boyd sighs, muttering about there being no place sacred to eat anymore and climbs up off the bench.
“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean? Hey Boyd!” Stiles turns back to gawp at Derek. “What’s he talking about?” Derek shrugs; eyes suspiciously innocent. “I don’t even know why I try and get you to talk, honestly, your sister clearly got the tongue in the family.”
Derek pulls a weird face and finishes his beer in one go. Stiles resolutely looks away from the long expanse of neck on display to ensure he doesn’t lean across the table and lick at it.
“Hey douchebag!” Jackson appears in front of him, sunglasses perched low on his nose and a checked scarf around his neck. He looks like he’s just walked off the pages of an Abercrombie and Fitch catalogue. Stiles wonders why the fuck this guy’s working manual labour for pittance wages when he can clearly afford to dress like a jerk off millionaire. “Your friend Lydia here?”
“No she left,” Stiles lies through his teeth. “Something about a really hot date with an artist who paints trees that represent his soul.”
Jackson scowls at him. “Are you fucking with me again? Because I will kick your ass.”
“I’m your boss Jackson you’re not allowed to kick my anything.”
“We’re off the clock.”
“Derek will protect me,” Stiles says firmly, glancing at Derek who lifts an eyebrow but then shrugs and nods, continuing to shovel food into his mouth.
It’s not exactly attractive but Stiles can look past it because Derek just made an eyebrow promise about defending his honor.
“Whatever, look, just tell me—” Jackson pauses when he spots Lydia talking animatedly to Allison in the background. Stiles resists the urge to bury his head in his hands.
“’Scuse me boys, I’m gonna go—” He shoots them both a shit eating grin. “Talk to the ladies.”
“Do you think he practices being smarmy in the mirror?”
Derek snorts, continuing to demolish his plate of food and seriously, the guy eats like he was raised by wolves.
“Dude, swallow.”
His words seem to make Derek do the exact opposite and Derek chokes on his latest mouthful. Stiles realises the connotations and leaps to his feet. “Oh, I uh—I’m just gonna get you some water or uh go—I’ll be—uh—over there.”
Derek looks up at him, eyes furious and then wheezes again before storming inside. Whether he’s gone to find the water Stiles so obviously wasn’t going to produce or lay out intricate plans to slowly murder Stiles he has no idea. He hopes he’s going to live long enough to see if he can find out whether Derek does in fact swallow but his chances are seemingly low.
Lydia’s watching him with open amusement and he narrows his eyes at her. She smiles slowly, before turning back to Jackson and twirling her hair around her finger. Honestly how the woman can be both the Queen of Evil and a seemingly innocent flirt at the same time is beyond him. Girls hurt his brain.
Then again guys hurt his brain too so he’s in a lose— lose situation here.
When Laura and Derek leave she mouths call me and Derek practically shoves her out the gate. Stiles tries to sink into his chair whilst his father fixes him with a piercing look.
“Stiles.”
“Father.”
“Anything you want to tell me?”
“I’ve always loved you in that shirt?”
“Stiles.”
“Nothing new to tell dad I swear. All good on the Stilinski Junior front.”
“Uh huh, well, glad we had this catch up.”
Stiles beams at him. “Me too dad.”
He catches his dad rolling his eyes but then Victoria is making her way over with a bottle of Bourbon and he really doesn’t want to be around when his dad and Chris get stuck in there and start talking about the good old days like they’re a Bob Seger song away from weeping into their glasses. He jumps up, waving awkwardly and thanking Mrs. Argent for having him before snagging Scott from the living room where he’s curled up watching True Blood of all things with Allison—the things that guy does for love.
Stiles has to admit though, Alcide does have a certain appeal to him what with the whole growling, grizzly, built thing he has going on.
He may or may not have a type.
*
Isaac looks like he wants to make a speech as Boyd and Stiles hold up their torches to light the bonfire on Monday. Erica’s texting again and Stiles is legitimately concerned for her thumbs and the brittle bones she has to look forward to when she’s thirty. Jackson looks bored and annoyed; he’s pissed at Stiles because apparently it’s his fault Jackson didn’t manage to convince Lydia to fall in love with him on Saturday. Scott’s out with Danny’s team for the day and Derek’s just, staring at Stiles across the heaps of crap they’ve scraped up from the yard.
It’s a little disconcerting but mostly it makes him want to strip and offer himself up as sacrifice.
Ok maybe it’s not just Isaac who gets a little heady around fire.
They watch the sparks crackle into life, the smoke slowly starting to curl up and across the lawn. Stiles ambles round to stand next to Derek, hands shoved in his pockets.
“S’pretty,” he says after a minute.
Derek nods and drags his eyes from the fire to look at him. The flames reflect in his eyes, illuminating them, mesmerising Stiles. It makes him want to slur stupid things like oh my god dude you are so pretty too but he bites his tongue and barks at Jackson to keep any eye on the fire whilst he and Boyd start plotting out the pathway.
Stiles uses a chalky paint to mark out the route he wants the path to take. The Shephard’s have a sloping garden and he plans to combat that with a retaining wall and a bank to break up the space. He draws in where paving stones will lead down from the top patio and then adds a second gravelly path to the left side of where the grass bank will be.
The whole team spend a week digging in the bank and around the side where a deep alcove will be for the water feature.
Isaac and Jackson then spend two days removing the first inch of soil from the newly shorn down grass in order to peg it, level it and then replace the topsoil. It’s tedious work and normally Stiles would level grass in the summer but he doesn’t have the time to wait around. He needs to get the soil firmed as soon as possible in order to lay down turf and have it set for the next step. Erica helps him set up a sump drain before Derek and Boyd spread and fork in peat and sand. The only fun part about the process it that once it’s down they all get to stamp across it heel toe style and if Stiles imagines he’s crushing Jackson’s whiney head under his feet well no one has to know. Derek looks like he’s doing exactly the same thing anyway.
*
On the last Saturday in January he and Scott sit down to lay out their work diary for the season. Danny comes over with pizza (there's a reason Stiles loves him the best) and tells them that the neighbours from the job on 54th would like to know if they’re available for maintenance throughout the spring.
“Have we got the man power?”
Danny shrugs, idly scratching at the beard he’s trying out. Stiles can’t decide if the guy looks more handsome with or without it but hates him either way because when Stiles forgets to shave for just a couple of days he gets patchy fuzz. Danny gets nice, healthy looking stubble that accentuates his ridiculous cheekbones.
Stupid people that can pull off scruff.
Stupid Derek and his own stupid scruff that Stiles can’t help but thinking about leaving delicious scratches all over his inner thighs that tingle for days afterwards.
He shifts on the sofa uncomfortably and grabs the pizza box; just to have the food closer of course, not because he needs to cover anything up. He’s fortunate that Scott and Danny aren’t looking at him right now—used to his endless fidgeting.
“Well how are the new guys working out? Could they stay on?”
“They’re not so bad,” Scott says, adding on a burp at the end of his sentence and looking joyful about it.
Danny rolls his eyes. “You’re gross.”
“It’s a compliment!”
“To the pizza company who aren’t here right now?”
“You’re just jealous because I can still burp the alphabet and you always get sick around ‘g’.”
Danny sticks his tongue out and then looks at Stiles. “Any thoughts?”
Stiles isn't listening having been mildly distracted by the idea of Derek working with him all through the summer.
He doesn’t personally have a lot of money and whatever he earns he pours right back into the business. Even when times get tight around the November- January period they get by somehow. But he’d pay some serious dollar to keep Derek around. Just the image of him getting all sweaty and dirty in the July heat as the sun makes his skin glisten... Stiles rubbing sunscreen across those broad shoulders as Derek’s skim down Stiles’ back before slipping lower into his shorts. His nice strong hands kneading at Stiles’ ass before—
“Stiles!” Danny snaps his fingers in front of his face and Stiles starts before flushing bright red and excusing himself from the living room.
Scott looks on, vaguely confused for a minute before chasing after him pulling a disgusted face.
“Stiles!”
“I didn’t say anything!” He slams his bedroom door quickly, leaning against it and grinds a palm down against his cock. Fuck fuck fuck.
“Oh my god, I know that look! What the hell were you thinking about?!”
“Nothing! It was just really good pizza!”
“He was thinking about Derek man.”
“What?! No. Why would you even think that? I could have been daydreaming about Boyd or Erica or or—”
Scott lets out a strangled noise and he can hear Danny snorting.
“Derek?” Scott yells at his door. “Really Stiles?”
“It’s not my fault he looks hot shirtless! I mean no! Danny, how do you even—I mean not that I do but—Danny you’re—”
“Lydia told me.”
“Oh my god, that girl cannot keep a fucking secret to save her life. I swear I’m never telling her anything ever again.”
“You were obvious at the cook out anyway,” Danny says casually whilst Scott sounds like he’s rolling around hyperventilating. The noises are somewhat similar to those of a dying walrus Stiles once saw on the Discovery Channel. He should find Scott an inhaler but, well, he’s kind of having a tough time moving right now.
“He probably has bear skins on his wall at home Stiles—that he killed himself, with his bare hands.”
“He's not that bad!”
“He’s actually totally hot,” Danny pipes in.
“No he’s not Danny,” Scott huffs crossly. “He's weird and he never talks in full sentences. And last week he laughed when Erica ran a wheelbarrow over my foot.”
“Everyone laughed at that!” If Stiles is honest he’d kind of been distracted by the fact Derek’s facial muscles could actually move that way. It had been hypnotizing.
He glances down and fortunately Scott bitching at him has successfully ridden him of his hard on. He throws open the door in an attempt to upend his best friend (who he just knows is leaning against the other side) and crows successfully when Scott stumbles away cursing in shock.
“You don’t even know him!”
Stiles gives him a look. “You’re the one that hired him dude.”
“Yeah but—” Scott look sulky for a second and then whines out, “Why can’t you ever like someone nice?”
Stiles grins widely at him. “Where’s the challenge in that?”
“We already have challenges.” Scott opens his arms to the apartment where there are papers for gardens everywhere, half a spade up against the wall and several piles of laundry waiting for a trip to Mrs. McCall’s.
(Their washing machine broke two months ago and neither of them have bothered to go out and buy a new one yet.)
“Look Scott just— don’t worry about it ok? It’s not even a thing—we don’t even talk!” He wills himself to believe that and shrugs, going for casual. “Besides he’s probably not gay.”
It’s Scott who rolls his eyes now. “Yeah and him checking out your ass all week was just in my head.”
“Wait what?” Stiles feels his face light up and he beams at his best friend. “He was really doing that? You weren’t just imagining it? I mean it’s a weird thing for you to imagine but you’ve totally thought of weirder things that than right? Your brain is a special place.”
Scott scowls at him. "You think I would want to imagine those things?"
"Hey! My ass is totally worth a good day dream or two about."
"I've known you since birth Stiles, I don't need the mental imagery of Derek staring at you wherever you walk."
Stiles can't help but smile again and Scott rolls his eyes muttering about how weird he is for finding Derek hot.
“He was definitely giving off the want to fuck your brains out kind of stares on Saturday,” Danny says helpfully.
“This is why I like you best,” Stiles says pointing at him and grinning whilst Scott bangs his head against the wall.
“Stop it!”
“Look man don’t—don’t worry ok?” Stiles pats him on the shoulder as he heads back into the living room in search of a beer. “It’s not even a thing ok?”
Danny follows, waking up their snoozing laptops and brings their schedules back onto the screens.
Scott hovers in the background and Stiles sighs, turning to look at him. “What dude?”
“Stiles.” Scott rubs a hand across his face and fixes him with an earnest look. “You know I just want you to be happy right?”
“Of course man,” he narrows his eyes. “Why do I feel like there’s a but hanging over that sentence though?”
“We need this job! It’s so much money we could—we could have some breathing room for the whole of spring. Maybe buy a new washer! You can’t start having sex with Derek Hale and—”
“Yes he can,” Danny interrupts. Again, favourite.
“But we have a job to do too man,” Scott whines. “You have to be able to concentrate.”
“Oh my god, Scott, I know how to do my job.”
Scott looks chastened and nods. “I know you do bro, just, be careful ok?”
Stiles lets out an exasperated huff. “It’s not like I’m writing his name in notebooks dude. He’s just hot.”
“I know your pining face—I know what comes next man.”
“Lies! I do not pine.”
“You kind of do,” Danny says snickering and reaching for his own beer. Stiles swipes it out of his reach and glares at him. “Fine,” Danny huffs. “You’re a fountain of manly angst and silent longing and nobody understands your pain.”
“Damn right.”
“You should still bone him though.”
"I should, right? It should be like, the law. I should totally get all up on that, for like, science too."
Danny nods seriously in agreement. "For science."
“Guys!”
Scott spends most of the evening sulking and making comments about how much money they won’t have if they keep the workers from the Shephard job on. Danny comes up with an entire spread sheet on ways profits will be increased due to the extra hands on deck.
This is why Stiles is forever ridiculously glad that when he came home from college Danny told him he was interested in backing his business. Stiles had revenue built up over his years with Jesse but he needed someone good with numbers (who also maybe kind of liked gardens, always a plus) to work with. Danny had already determined being a real estate broker wasn’t going to keep him occupied or on his toes for very long as and so had asked Stiles on how he felt about a joint venture.
Scott just liked being outside and his own degree in Agriculture and Forestry was so that later in life he could fulfil his dreams of owning a farm. Stiles isn’t sure Allison is aware of just how serious that dream is considering she still blanches when Scott suggests they go horseback riding for dates and teases him whenever he gets excited over sheep. But having a farm as her own personal back yard would probably make for some pretty cool fieldtrips for all the little four year olds she teaches so maybe she could work with it.
Eventually they have a workable, provisional, outline plotted out and they wave Danny off sleepily.
Scott throws an arm around his shoulders, never one to be petulant for very long, and ruffles his hair. “Just wan’ you to be happy,” he slurs tiredly.
“Yeah man I know.”
"You should marry Danny! Danny makes everyone happy."
"Dude, no. Don't even try and start setting that up. It would be awkward for everyone."
"Ok, but I still think Derek's gross."
"That's probably a good think buddy. I think Allison would be thrown for a bit of a loop if you started making come hither eyes at Derek."
Stiles drops Scott on his bed where he immediately curls around a pillow muttering about Allison dreamily.
Stiles pulls a grossed out face and pads down to his own room. And if he thinks about Derek standing naked in a field of poppies then nobody has to know. After all, what makes him happy is shirtless Derek and Scott did say that’s what he wanted for Stiles.