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The coffee flies out of his hands, and he flies off of the pavement.
It's a Monday morning, which is just a sign of the impending doom he faces in the coming week.
Derek's angry, downright furious at the sheer audacity of this person, who deemed it socially acceptable to push someone on to the street. He knows he leans more towards the larger size, so whoever it was that pushed him has to have been somewhat bigger, or even the same size, stronger at least. But, when he looks up at the culprit, he finds himself staring at a thin, wiry guy, who is probably not very heavy nor does he look like he could actually have pushed Derek.
"Oh, man, this is just not my day."
"You're telling the guy who's lying on a public road in New York." Derek states, annoyed at this guy for manipulating the situation to fit with his existential crisis of the week. He looks like a college student, so Derek assumes he's pretty accurate in saying the guy has these moments pretty often.
"Fuck, sorry man!" The man sighs, before he stares off to the side, looking forlornly at the soggy paper cup to Derek's right. Derek coughs slightly.
"Oh!" He reaches a hand out, and Derek allows himself to be pulled up; the man is definitely a lot stronger than he looks, Derek will have to re-evaluate. Laura would say it serves him right, and that he shouldn't judge people based on what they look like.
Laura knows nothing.
His shirt is ruined, because while the collision caused the kids coffee to fall to the side of the pavement, near the gutter, his fell directly under him. Derek realizes he's incredibly lucky; without a faster healing process, he would have serious burns on his back right now.
"Hi," says the boy, which makes Derek focus his attention on him once again, instead of his ruined shirt. They're standing a lot closer to each other than he had expected. He can feel the twitch of his hands, and their arms brush together as the boy twitches nervously. He looks down between them, which doesn't go unnoticed, because a second later the warmth is gone.
"Sorry, shit, sorry! I'm so sorry!"
"It's fine," Derek says.
"My name's Stiles, and I just ruined your shirt, and your coffee, and probably your morning."
Well, Derek can agree with the first two, but his morning is definitely not ruined, because it was worth it to be pushed over if he was pushed by someone so beautiful. He would let the guy knock him on over a hundred times. As long as it doesn't involve burning coffee every time.
"Do you maybe want to come up?"
Derek stops thinking about those creepy old ladies, and instead tunes back in to Stiles, only to realize he was saying something.
"Go where?"
Stiles sighs, as if he knows that Derek wasn't really listening at all, and bites on his bottom lip, tugging the edge slightly.
Derek's definitely distracted, again. He doesn't know how he didn't notice those lips before. He needs them on him, now.
Which is..? Strange? Derek has never had thought processes like this before, but one guy is throwing him a huge curveball.
"Dude, my office." Stiles says, waving a hand in front of Derek's face. "I have a spare shirt up there for you to borrow, and a somewhat decent coffee machine. If you don't have anywhere to be, that is. I noticed you were in a rush, actually -shit you know what, never mind man, at least let me-"
"Coffee and a new shirt sounds good to me, actually," Derek says. He has a feeling if he doesn't interrupt, the guy- Stiles- would go on for a while.
Derek also doesn't need to tell Stiles that the reason that he was rushing was because he needed to get to the other side of town for a blind date. Erica can just explain it to the guy; it was her idea. Who has breakfast dates on Monday mornings, anyway?
-----
Stiles leads him in to a building across the road from where they collided, and Derek notices it has Stilist magazine written on the door.
Stiles must notice he isn't right behind him, because he turns around to say, "Yeah, that isn't spelled wrong, it's a play on my name. Stile...ist, get it?"
No.
No way.
Erica is most certainly going to kill him now.
"You... you're...fashion?" Derek's staring now, bewildered by these turn of events. He doesn't care if it seems rude. He seems to have forgotten how to communicate, but 28 years will teach you nothing if not that your mouth tends to have a mind of its own.
"Dude, don't judge." Stiles seems hurt now, his eyebrows bunching together, frown forming on those beautiful lips. He turns around, back facing Derek, and starts pressing the button for the lift with a bit more force. Repeatedly.
"That's not what I meant." He sighs; communication has always been an issue for Derek, he knows it's an inherent weakness. "You just seem a bit young to be-"
"Oh!" Stiles turns back around towards him. "Well, one of the youngest Senior Editors ever, and a couple of years ago, when the company was going to be shut down, I helped my friends buy it."
They step in to the lift, Derek at a more sedate pace than Stiles, who is practically bouncing inside, fingers tapping on the button of the 24th floor. Derek's in awe, completely dumbfounded by his luck. He doesn't know if it's good or bad, that he managed to collide with Stiles, but he also realises that he probably had at least a 45% chance of getting a date with Stiles, and that's decreased significantly.
"Scott and Lydia are Co-editor-in chiefs, and Allison is director."
"What about you, then?"
"I don't really like working up so high, you know? It gets a little boring, so I work as the Head Designer."
They lift comes to a stop, and they walk out in to what seems to be a GIANT walk-in closet. Derek's not quite sure where to look, and if the brief glance he sends Stiles tells him the awe in his face delights Stiles.
"So, when you said you had a spare shirt hanging around..."
Stiles grins, hand reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck. "Yeah, not what you expected, but you're hotter than I-" He stops speaking suddenly, clamping his mouth shut.
"Than you... ?" Derek knows exactly how that sentence is going to end, but he wants to see that red blush bloom on Stiles' cheeks, wants to see it highlight the length of his neck, wants to take his shirt off and see how far dow-
"Hot. You're hot. So," Stiles rocks back on his heels, stuffing his hands in to the pockets of his gloriously tight slacks. "A shirt, yes." He turns around, and walks towards a white sliding door. Once he reaches it, he pulls it open and turns to Derek, tilting his head towards the many dress shirts hanging in it.
"I know the shirt you've got on now is white, but i'm thinking maybe a nice green to bring out the eyes, you know?" He turns back to the shirts, walking past more colours than Derek can name before he stops in front of the green shirts. He pulls out a few by their hangers and shakes them in Derek's direction. "Here, try these- and oh, this one!"
Derek sighs wistfully, knowing that freedom is an idea that is long gone, knows that coffee probably will not be seen as soon as he would like, that Stiles would probably not agree with Derek's suggestion of taking off his shirt too.
He puts the shirts down on the plush chair to his right, and removes the one with coffee stains from his body.
"You know I only need one shirt, right? Not that i'm not grateful but-"
Stiles comes tumbling out of the wardrobe with a bunch of other clothes in his arms. He mumbles something but Derek can't hear him because his mouth is also gripping a hangar. From it dangles a stunning jacket that catches Derek's eyes.
Stiles drops everything else on the seats, but keeps the jacket with him. "You like?" he asks.
"It's amazing, but there's no way i'm taking that."
"Dude, shut up- But, whoa that shirt looks good on you," Stiles comments, watching Derek button up a forest green shirt. It feels incredibly soft on Derek's skin.
"You're pretty good at this," Derek says in reply.
Stiles blushes again, but plays off Derek's compliment. "It's only a shirt," he mumbles. "Shit, wait, what's your name?"
He can't help but laugh as he replies, "Derek," with a grin that stretches across his face.
Shaking his head, he bunches up his own top, ready to throw it away because the only other option is to carry it around all day, when Stiles places a hand on his arm. "I'll put that through to the cleaners downstairs, they'll get it back to you good as new!" he says, and then carefully extracts it from Derek's still stiff grip.
He's reeling from Stiles' touch, unable to forget the pressure and warmth of his hand on Derek skin; tingles running through the exact spot.
Stiles walks away after sending him a concerned look. When he returns, it's with a tablet. He gestures for Derek to sit down at the seats beside them. Derek makes to do so, shuffling some of the other shirts out of the way to make room.
"I didn't even try any of these on," he apologizes to Stiles.
"Oh, well that's okay. The first shirt is good enough," Stiles says, and then in no way being discreet he gives Derek a once over, licking his lip briefly. He quickly remembers himself, but Derek's amused nonetheless.
"Actually," Stiles continues, "What would you say to a bit of modelling?"
"Modelling? Me?"
"Yeah! You've got the looks, obviously-"
"Obviously," Derek teases.
Stiles stumbles, before shooting a faux glare in Derek's direction. "You'll get paid, of course! I just think you would look REALLY good on our front cover."
Derek laughs at Stiles wistful tone. "I've never modelled before and you're imagining me on the front cover? Ambitious much?"
"You severely underestimate your appeal," Stiles mutters. He glances down at the tablet in his hands before tapping the screen a few times. He squints as if he's struggling to see what's on the screen before he looks up to glare at the wall of windows to his left.
Derek looks, too. The view is breathtaking, a near birds-eye view of skyscrapers and landmarks. From here Derek can see the cafe he was supposed to meet his blind date at, a small place amongst the giants, nearly hidden behind the hundreds of corporate buildings.
The view suddenly becomes limited, and the sunlight coming in to the room decreases significantly. Derek's taken by surprise at the closing blinds, so immersed in the view that he didn't notice Stiles reaching for a small remote beside him to close them.
"I hope you don't mind, I hate the layout of this room." Stiles responds, when he sees Derek's curious glance.
Derek loves the layout, but he keeps that to himself. Instead all he can think about is how lovely Stiles looked with the sun on his face, basking in the natural glow bestowed on him, and how it made his eyes shine a whiskey colour.
"I just- which idiot places all the furniture in the room directly in the sunlight? Fair enough, the desks, because the lighting makes all the difference when you're designing something, but not my thinking areas, man! I think better in the dark,"
Derek barely knows this man, but he's half in love with him already.
"So, what do you think, dude? You up for a bit of a test run?"
"Don't call me 'dude' and we've got a deal."
---
If there has ever been a time where Derek was so overcome by lust that he could barely think, it would be during the mock photo shoot.
He's in the tightest jeans to have ever been produced, and a white vest that feels so small it might as well not be on him. He does note, however, that taking the vest off will only elevate these sexual urges between him and Stiles, if the steamy glances he keeps getting from Stiles have anything to say about it.
Derek's asked to lift one arm up above his head, tilt his head to the left and "push his hips out sensuously," whatever the fuck that means. When the intern helping the photographer sighs REALLY loudly, Derek shoots him a glare. The boy whimpers before he moves back out of the lights surrounding Derek on set. Stiles snorts, and when Derek sends the glare his way, he simply raises his arms placatingly and shrugs.
Stiles taps the photographer on the shoulder to get him to stop, before walking on to the set with a spray bottle of water and a comb. He touches up on Derek's hair before he moves to walk off the set. Stiles stops suddenly, frozen in motion, before he whirls back around and pulls at the vest.
If Derek takes off the vest, he's not going to last being on the receiving end of the looks Stiles sends him.
"What."
"I don't know how you asked a question without actually making it sound like a question, but to answer it, you need to take off the top." Stiles says with a devious grin on his face.
Derek stares at him for a moment, before he groans. He was hoping to avoid this. He yanks off the vest before he crosses his arms over his chest.
"Now, now, no need to be like that," Stiles chides, and then he sprays Derek in the face with some water. Derek splutters and his body tenses in surprise.
"Ooooh, now that's what I like to see," Stiles says, eyes raking over Derek's chest. He then sprays more water across Derek's chest so it looks like he's been out in the rain or something, water droplets sitting on abdomen, and some of it runs down to the top of his jeans.
Stiles pinches one of his nipples, before he sprays Derek in the face once more.
"Okay! Go, Go!" Stiles shouts at the photographer, running off the set as Derek shrieks in outrages and attempts to retaliate.
He can't lie, this is the most fun he's had in a long time, despite the heat of the lights above him, In any case it's much better than the date he abandoned. It's actually quite cute that Stiles reacts so openly to his desire for Derek. He doesn't know if it's just light flirting or if Stiles actually likes him, but he'll take what he can get.
"Yeees, just like that," Stiles comments.
"mmhmmn,"
and then, "Muss up that hair a bit,"
"Oh, saucy!"
And Derek has had enough.
He stomps off of the set towards Stiles, who shrieks and blindly takes a few steps back. He trips on cables for the lighting, and goes clattering in to a bunch of equipment laying on the floor before Derek can grab him.
Derek winces, because that had to have hurt. He goes quickly to Stiles' side to sit him up.
Stiles groans, "Brendan, you better have a fucking good explanation for the fuckton of shit here, dude,"
The intern scampers to Stiles' side, stuttering out an apology as he moves the equipment.
Stiles looks up at Derek and smiles; it's half forced and he winces as he sits up. Derek picks him up, one hand under his knees and the other under his back.
"I'm not- this damsel is , Derek, put me down." Stiles sighs. But Derek doesn't listen, he knows when he's being lied to, and Stiles fell pretty hard on to poles and screens and speakers and all sorts. He ignores Stiles' half hearted complaints, and leads him back to the office that Stiles first took him to. It's three floors up, which means they have to take the lift.
He notices the two of them receiving strange looks, and a few smirks, but thinks nothing of it until they're out of the elevator and in to the corridor. Through the reflection of the glass wall, he sees himself, half naked and still dripping water, with a bright red Stiles in his arms. Stiles is clinging to his neck, both arms wrapped around him.
Derek slowly lets him go once they reach the lounge and places him down on the chesterfield sofa by the door.
"Ow," Stiles mumbles, clutching at his side, just below his ribs.
"I'm sorry for scaring you," Derek says, and he really is. He doesn't know what overcame him. It's just that the sounds Stiles was making were becoming too hard to hear, and Derek wanted to do something to shut him up.
Not hit him.
More like, kiss him?
"No, no. You don't have to apologize, Derek!" Stiles argues, "Honestly, I just panicked and I wasn't watching where I was going an-"
"You thought I was going to hit you."
"Whaa- No! Okay, maybe a little, but-"
"I wanted to kiss you.." Derek quickly says. He bends down so that he's on the same level as Stiles, can look in to his eyes without hovering above him.
"You. Really?" Stiles seems surprised. His eyes are blown wide, and he's staring at Derek like this is the first time he's seen him.
"Yeah. You've been driving me crazy all morning."
Stiles grins at him, and Derek ducks his head to hide his blush. From the corner of his eye, he sees Stiles wiggling. But he seems to have mistaken discomfort for whatever the hell it is that Stiles' is doing; some sort of dance, Derek supposes. It's a full body wiggle that lets Stiles' shirt ride up slightly, revealing a sliver of skin that Derek can't look away from.
"Hey. Derek?" He hears Stiles call.
"Yeah?"
"Is that offer still open?"
"The kiss?"
Stiles nods, and grabs Derek's hands from where its leaning on the couch for support.
"I want a date, too."
"Yes. Definitely." Derek replies.
"Maybe more than one."
"That can be arranged."
"You sound like a contract killer when you say it like that," Stiles laughs, short and sweet.
Derek moves back, out of Stiles personal space. "Well, you've just ruined the mood now. I was going for romantic bu-"
He's cut off by a yanking on his neck, and surprised by the force, he goes toppling on to Stiles. In no way is it sexy, because his chest smashes in to Stiles' face, and he knees Stiles in the groin.
"Fuuuu-" Stiles groans.
Derek moans,too. Sliding down the couch until he's face to face with Stiles. He rests his face in the crook of Stiles' neck, placing small kisses there in apology as Stiles deals with the pain.
"I seem to be a health hazard to you," he mumbles.
"In all honesty, i'm pretty sure I played an equal role in all three of our accidents today." Stiles mumbles back.
Derek picks his head up to look at Stiles. The smile he gets is beautiful, and Derek wishes to have that smile in his life for the rest of his life.
"How about," he starts, "I wait until our first date for a kiss? Make you work for it?" Derek teases.
"Don't you dare, Derek! I deserve a reward after all of the disasters that today caused." Stiles screams, before he leans up in to Derek's space and presses their lips together. It's chaste, just a light brush of lips because Derek moves away.
"What? Where are you going?"
"I gave you a kiss. Now i'm making you work for it," He replies, getting up from on top of Stiles, no matter how much he wishes to stay there.
He drops a kiss on Stiles' forehead. "I'm leaving you my number, and you can drop off my shirt when you pick me up for our date this evening." He tries to act collected, but around Stiles, who he reminds himself he's only just met, it seems impossible to keep up any walls.
"I am all for the dating, Derek! I will woo your socks off,"
"You've already wooed my shirt off, so things are already in your favour."
"So, not long until I can woo your pants off either, then?" Stiles says with a grin.
Fuck it, Derek's not waiting for their date.