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“Ugh no,” Stiles whines, he can tell his face is pouting spectacularly, even without the quirk of Derek’s brow and his completely unimpressed expression. “This is going to be the police chick all over again.”
“Do you have a better suggestion?” Derek asks, like he’s all ears, which Stiles knows he’s not, he’s actually six feet of sass, claws, and stubbornness.
“Well…no,” he admits. Derek gives him another look, this one clearly says then let’s get on with it. Stiles make a whiny growling noise of frustration and gets out of the camaro. “I hate this,” he grumbles. “You don’t even have to do anything! Or use words, you just have to stand there with your stupid face and your fucking smile and why does everyone I know have dimples?”
Derek looks like he’s trying not to laugh, which just accentuates the aforementioned dimples. Stiles glares at him. “Sick of your sexy Alpha charisma,” he huffs. Derek stops and his smirk falters slightly. He looks speculative, and if Stiles is being honest, kind of pleased.
“Sexy Alpha charisma?” He asks. Stiles flushes and doesn’t answer him.
“Yeah well, you’re an asshole like 99% of the time.”
“But you think I’m sexy?” Derek asks, and his voice is light, teasing. It reminds Stiles suddenly of Scott.
“No,” Stiles says, with as much conviction as he can muster as they make their way towards the revolving door of the office building.
“You’re lying.”
“I know,” Stiles grouses, not looking at Derek. “But it’s usually polite to accept these things at face value, you know? To spare someone the utter humiliation,” Stiles explains. Derek looks like he’s contemplating this for a moment, before his lip quirks up again.
Stiles hates that grin, it’s usually followed by threat of impending death. Well, Stiles should hate that grin, because it’s usually followed by threat of impending death, but mostly it just makes his heart beat faster and his blood head south.
Derek is looking at him like he knows this. Stiles narrows his eyes at him and tries to think unsexy thoughts.
They fumble awkwardly at the revolving door, or rather Derek saunters, saunters, smoothly up to it but Stiles can’t decide if he wants to jump in with Derek or wait for his own compartment, and ends up flailing until Derek reaches behind him and yanks him inside to save them both the embarrassment of ambulance rides and amputated limbs.
In the lobby, Stiles waits impatiently as Derek turns the charm up on the pretty blonde at the front desk who, as per usual, is flustered before words are even exchanged. Stiles rolls his eyes, and catches Derek’s full blown leer in the mirror on the wall behind her.
He can’t hear the words being exchanged, but he can tell it’s hook, line, and sinker, because the woman bites her bottom lip until its red, looks around a bit nervously, and scribbles something down on the back of a business card before sliding it across the marble countertop towards Derek. Derek smiles again, and she flushes a bit, and writes something else down and slides another slip of paper.
Then Derek is turning around and making his way back towards Stiles, who glares at him a bit pointedly.
“Did you get it?” He asks, even though he knows he did.
“Of course, I didn’t even have to overtax my sexy alpha charisma,” Derek jokes. He hates when Derek jokes, it’s somehow more terrifying than when he’s leveling threats.
“You got her number too, didn’t you?” Stiles asks, and Derek just sort of smirks, and waves the slip of paper at him, Stiles can make out a couple of digits before Derek folds it up into a tight triangle and flicks it at his face. It bounces off Stiles forehead painfully and falls to the ground.
“You didn’t want it?” Stiles asks, looking at it a bit incredulously there on the shiny marble floor. She was hot.
“Did you?” Derek asks him, bemused.
“No…” Stiles says, as if a little uncertain.
“Then let’s go,” Derek gripes, stepping through the revolving door, Stiles trailing after.
“Ugh!” Stiles shouts at him, irritated. “You know, your face is way hotter when it’s not so growly.”
“Yeah, and your mouth is way hotter when it’s not so loud.” Derek returns, stepping out onto the sidewalk. Stiles stops short, and gapes at him.
“See?” Derek says with a grin, turning to face him. The revolving door smacks Stiles in the side of the head and he has to go around two more times before he’s mustered up the composure to scramble his way out of it.
“I-I…don’t know what to say to that,” Stiles admits.
“That was the point, Stiles,” Derek teases him. Stiles doesn’t say anything until they’re both seated in the camaro again.
“So, you didn’t want her number?” Stiles clarifies.
“No.”
“Cos you think my mouth is nice.” It’s not really a question.
“Yes, Stiles,” Derek sighs.
“And you like that I think your Alpha charisma is sexy?”
“Will you stop calling it that?” Derek gripes.
“Hot werewolf mojo?” Stiles asks.
“No.” Derek vetoes immediately.
“Erotic lycanthropic wiles?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Bodacious—“ Stiles starts, but then Derek is leaning over the console and crowding into his space.
“Stiles? Shut. Up.” Derek huffs, and kisses him.