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Stiles had known Derek Hale for 656 days, and he’d despised him for all 656 of those days. If you asked Stiles why he despised the man, he’d go on a rant about what a terrible human… Ehm… werewolf he was. And to be clear, Stiles firmly believed that despite being a born wolf Derek was awful at being a werewolf, and a terrible person.
Now, if you scratch the surface of Stiles’ superficial rant, you’d see that all he really complained about was Derek getting hurt, so no one really took his hatred that seriously. Except for Stiles himself.
“I hate him – Do you have any idea of how annoying it is that he throws himself into danger for any reason? And me being an actual good person is stuck having to dig a bullet out of his chest or cut off his arm. It’s like he wants to traumatize me.”
The fact that Derek got hurt saving and/or protecting people was irrelevant, of course.
But that was how their relationship had always been. A lot of arguing and frustrations. It was no secret that Derek despised Stiles right back and would rather die than having Stiles touch him, even if it was to amputate his arm to save his life. For almost two years this was how things had been between them, and this weekend had been no exception.
Stiles had had to go to some kind of werewolf meeting. Alpha conference? Pack symposium? Gathering. To represent the Hale pack. With Derek being the Alpha and Stiles having appointed himself as the emissary so he wouldn’t fuck everything up, it was always up to them to represent.
The 7-hour drive there was spent bickering and insulting each other like it was a sport. They’d played nice for the for masses at the gathering, even toeing the lines of friendly, but they’d always reverted back to old habits once they were in private.
However, Stiles felt that maybe, perhaps, if you squint, on the way back, the energy had shifted slightly. The blows were coming from southeast instead of straight up north. The insults, the hate, both sounded and felt a lot like bantering instead.
Now, Stiles’ love language was bickering, roasting and sarcasm. As well as info dumping, of course. He could easily admit that, and Scott would back that up happily. But his hate language was also harsh words and sarcasm, so there wasn’t too much of a leap to venture into bantering, if he was having a good time.
Was he having a good time? Was Derek Hale actually making him have a good time? Impossible! Improbable at best.
But something felt different, and Stiles did not want to start examining that until he was alone. Nope, not one bit keen on opening that floodgate. He’d be home soon enough anyways, he thought.
Which is of course when the Camaro finally died, after several attempts over the years. At sunset 4 hours into their drive, with only a shady motel on some back road around. Great. Absolutely great way to end the weekend. Stiles was going to get murdered by a murder-y werewolf in this murder-y motel because Derek was already grumpy from not being able to be completely anti-social all weekend, and this was the last drop.
But when the cheery girl behind the desk informed them that there was only one room with a queen-sized bed left, all Derek did was accept and say:
“Hope the minibar has some bleach for me to drink.” But it had sounded like a joke. An actual joke, not Stiles willing it to be a joke so he wouldn’t actually be hurt. And Stiles had of course acted offended and retorted that he was a perfect roommate actually, and if this night was hell, well that was on Derek, thank you very much. But he was not as frustrated by the lack of rooms as he should have been, and he made a note of that for later.
Closing the door to their room behind them kind of cemented the deal. They were alone, and there was clearly just one bed. There was no couch, and even if Stiles could find a patch of floor long enough for his limbs in any part of the small room, it looked dirty enough that he’d take the wrath of the angry wolf over the inevitable staph infection.
The dim light didn’t do them any favors. Or well, it did Derek a lot of favors, depending on how you looked at it.
Derek had always been attractive. Even as Stiles mocked and ridiculed him, he always thought he was the single hottest person on the planet, and he would be a lucky squirrel to get to climb that tree. And in the waning light with Derek rummaging through his bag on the bed, their bed, he felt that annoying tug around his naval that he usually either ignored or dubbed “simmering rage.”
Stiles was dead set on ignoring it this time as well, but even he couldn’t pretend, even to himself, when Derek looked up at him with a crooked smile, because that tug definitely meant Stiles wanted to sink his teeth into him and not let go. Stiles shook his head as if that would erase the fleeting thoughts and flopped down on the bed as a distraction.
They were both tired from the weekend and the long drive, so any attempts at hostility from any of them fell flat and soon enough they were just reclining on the bed, talking. Talking! Civilly! With Derek Hale. Not even civil. It was actual conversations with actual depth, and Stiles knew immediately that he was drowning in that depth.
Fine. Attraction was fine. It didn’t mean anything. People thought monsters (both the human and the monster kind) were hot all the time. It. Didn’t. mean. Anything. Also, it wasn’t like he’d ever act on it anyways. The hate sex would probably be life changing, earth shattering, ruining Stiles for any other man, woman and/or monster, but Stiles himself wasn’t one. A monster that is. And he knew Derek had a special someone waiting for him at home. And Stiles was not a saint by any standards, but he was not a homewrecker.
That was what he told himself over and over while he mapped out Derek's hazel eyes while he talked. That’s what he told himself when Derek's low laugh went straight to his heart (and dick). But he forgot to tell himself that when Derek leaned in and kissed him.
Oh, fuck it. Maybe it would be okay for tonight. Maybe they could have a hot steamy one night of physical “fight” instead of the usual verbal one and go back to hating each other in the morning. This was Derek's choice as much as Stiles’ and if he didn’t care about any of it tonight, maybe Stiles shouldn’t either.
Still, he broke away when Derek tried deepening the kiss.
“Stiles?” Derek asked, concern lacing his voice.
“I know for a fact you’re seeing someone, and I am not a homewrecker, nor will I make you a cheater. Well, any more than I already did, I guess.” Stiles spat back disgusted with himself for going along with it, just because of some pretty eyes. More so disgusted by Derek who should know better. “You’ve had the most cursed love life I’ve ever heard of, and here you are looking to jeopardize it when you have something good. That’s sad, Der.”
Stiles was better than this. He was supposed to be better than this. Yes, he was a young man driven by his libido, but he knew how much it sucked to be strung along. How much it hurt to be the one sitting at home. And he couldn’t control himself? Pathetic. But at least he wasn’t as pathetic as Derek. And that was both the standard he was going for, and a huge comfort.
“Homewrecker?” Derek asked confused. “I’m not dating anyone, hasn’t been for a long time.”
“Really? So, all those little dates with Ms. Morell were just… ‘research’? Just, ‘studying’?” Stiles scoffed doubtfully. No one did that much research unless it was a euphemism. Except for Stiles, but he knew he wasn’t the norm. It was literally the intellectual “Netflix and chill.”
“Yes. They were literally just research and studying – you know, to keep the pack alive? I’ve been learning everything I can to keep us strong, and she’s been teaching me as a favor to Deaton. I didn’t really think I needed to say this, but I don’t date witches anymore. Not since Jennifer.”
Oh.
Oh.
Yeah, that was… more than fair. Stiles would probably swear off witches if he was the one who got zapped with a love spell, raped and almost sacrificed as well. Probably a good call, considering Derek's history.
This changed everything. Well, everything in this moment. The other complicated thoughts and feelings were still on standby for when he was alone. But if it wasn’t cheating…
“So, no girlfriend? Boyfriend? Partner? Evil substitute teacher?” Stiles hedged, sliding a little closer to Derek on the bed.
“Actually, I’ve been really into ADHD and sarcasm personified lately.” Derek purred. “Weirdly enough, apparently I like being absolutely roasted for anything I do, if you’re the one doing it.”
“That sounds like something you should talk about in therapy. Going from hating someone to liking them verbally abusing you seems unhealthy.” Stiles was breathless, grinning manically up at Derek through his lashes. Roasting him – he could manage that.
“I never hated you.” Derek told him and used a finger to tip his chin up.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“You hated me, though.”
“Actually,” Stiles took a deep breath and slipped a finger into one of Derek's belt loops to tug him closer. “I think it was more cuteness aggression. Hotness aggression?”
“What, you want me so bad you have to be mean?”
“I’m always mean, the hotness just added to it.” Derek grinned and leaned in closer, ghosting his lips along Stiles’ jaw.
“Whatever you say, as long as you don’t hate me right now. I don’t think I want to kiss someone who hates me.”
“Definitely no hate here.” Stiles sighed as the warm breath on his skin made him break out in goosebumps. The good kind. “Actually, keep going like that and I regret to inform you I might actually start liking you. Isn’t that the worst fucking thing you’ve ever heard?” “Actually,” Derek laughed breathily. “I can think of worse things.”