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The new sports season begins with a demonstration that the universe is in fact out to get Isaac Lahey.
Everything is deceptively normal until the end of the first lacrosse practice. The newbies are all bent over, clutching each other and the earth, puking up the contents of their lunch under Finstock’s outrageous tryout regime.
Isaac, Scott and Stiles tut sympathetically on their way to the locker rooms. It wasn’t so long ago they’d been in the exact same position. But they’d done their time and earned the right to leave the freshies to pack up while they hit the showers before all the hot water was used up.
It’s when they enter a locker room filled with people that Isaac realises something is extremely wrong.
There is an entire basketball team in various stages of undress where there should be an empty locker room.
“What the fuck,” Stiles hisses angrily.
It’s a squeeze to make it to their lockers and Stiles makes his dissatisfaction loud and clear while Scott rolls his eyes. Its sheer dumb luck that the space around Isaac’s old locker is empty and he’s able to remember his code and dump his things in there without rubbing against any naked bodies.
He turns to ask Scott if he wants to skip the showers and clean up at home when the bane of Isaac’s existence steps up next to him.
Fresh from the showers, water dripping from the black swirls of his hair onto bronze skin, Derek Hale clocks Isaac’s staring and responds with a quirked brow.
“Lahey,” he grins, biceps bunching as he crosses his arms over his bare chest, “see something you like?”
Isaac’s responding smile is all teeth. “If arrogant assholes were my type.”
“You saying they aren’t?” Hale drops into a lean against his locker with practiced ease and the position does nothing to detract from Isaac’s accusation. It’s a familiar stance. The “I Can Do This All Day” lazy lean.
They’ve been dancing around each other in this weird pig tail pulling ritual for two years now, ever since Isaac starting living with the McCalls and got transferred to Beacon Hills State High.
“Why are you even in here, Hale?” Isaac defers. His muscles ache, he stinks and he’s honestly not in the mood to snark and hate flirt with his not quite an enemy. He turns around to look for Scott, if only for an excuse not to have to look at Hale in all his indecency.
“Coach is pregnant, she’s got all kinds of appointments outside of school hours, this was the only time slot she had free so they had to move practice to Wednesday,” Derek explains.
Isaac’s only half listening, he’s more focused on the swishing movements and the shuffling sounds of Derek getting dressed. He’s saved from responding when Scott darts out from around two half naked bodies, dressed in clean clothes but with dry hair.
“Do you just want to shower at home?” Scott asks. He must catch Derek’s gaze over Isaac’s shoulder because he offers a friendly smile and a wave and then looking at Isaac expectantly for an answer.
“You read my mind.” Isaac grabs his things and shuts his locker, purposefully avoiding Hale’s gaze.
He doesn’t escape completely unscathed though.
“See you next Wednesday, Lahey!” Hale calls out through the busy locker room, earning him a round of heckling and whistles on his way out.
Next Wednesday? Not if Isaac can fucking help it.
The sharp banter between Isaac and Hale takes on a new level of tension in the days leading up to the next practice.
There are moments when Isaac forgets about it, slides into the familiar comfort of bickering with his frenemy, making snide remarks that are really thinly veiled compliments. And then after Biology on D-Day Hale stops on his way out of class.
He leans over Isaac’s shoulder, so that his chest is almost flush against Isaac’s back and whispers “see you after practice”.
Isaac has to wait until everyone else has left for his dick to calm the fuck down. It’s not the first time he’s popped a boner because of Derek fucking Hale. It’s just that before when it happened, he didn’t have an actual real life image of what Hale looks like under his tank tops and leather jackets to assist in his half chub.
Ever a supportive friend, Scott waits for him in the doorway with a mocking grin on his face.
“Aw, don’t be embarrassed,” Scott ribs as they walk down the hall, “awkward and unexpected boners are a normal part of puberty.”
Isaac doesn’t grace him with a response.
The basketball team are already out on the courts by the time Scott and Isaac enter to change. Isaac thanks the universe for small mercies.
Out on the green, the rest of the lacrosse team are collectively taking out their pent up aggression on Greenburg in the goalie net. Derek Hale and his team of basketball douchebags are safely out of sight and sound behind the tall stone walls of the gym.
Now he’s aware that Hale is inside there, running drills, barking orders at his team mates, sweat gleaming across thick muscles that no high schooler should have, Isaac can’t stop shooting glances at the building.
“If you stare hard enough maybe you’ll suddenly develop x-ray vision,” Stiles says, nudging him to take his turn. Isaac frowns at him and takes aim.
The ball bounces off Greenburgs shoulder and landing five feet away from the goal.
He’s nudged out of the way and retreats to the back of the line before Finstock can focus in on him. If this is a preview of what’s to come, Finstock is going to bench him before they even start playing competitively.
Against his will he ends up staring at the gym again until Scott nudges him on his way to the back of the line and Finstock threatens to have him replace Greenburg if he doesn’t get his shit together.
“I’m pretty sure he’s not supposed to swear at us,” Isaac murmurs, taking aim.
“I’m pretty sure there’s a lot of stuff he’s not supposed to do that he does,” Stiles agrees, “like using Greenburg for target practice.”
He makes it through the rest of practice without fumbling too much. Only when he thinks about Hale coming out of the shower, steam rising off his skin, dark hair dusting practically every inch of him god damn how can he be that hairy when Isaac can’t even grow a beard?
Finstock dismisses them all after a ten minute lecture aimed at no-one in particular and Isaac offers to do pack up instead of the Freshmen. He ignores the shared look between Stiles and Scott and waves them off when they ask him if he wants help.
His manages to waste a good half an hour. Half an hour of collecting up the equipment and locking it away to ensure that by the time he gets to the locker room, it’s all but empty with the exception of a couple players tying their shoes and throwing waves at him over their shoulders on their way out.
Any anxiety he had, fleas the moment the last person leaves the locker room and he’s standing in there alone. He strips leisurely and ambles towards the shower feeling pleased with himself for coming up with the perfect solution to avoiding Hale.
He hears the running shower too late.
The room is still steamed up from the rush of two whole teams passing through but through the thin fog he can see the legs of the person standing in one of the shower stalls. He’s close enough that he can see dark wirey hair dusting across thickly corded calves and he has to swallow hard because he knows those legs.
His movements are mechanic and his brain goes to autopilot as he shuffles into the stall furthest away from the wet and extremely man he definitely has not had wet dreams about, and washes the sweat and grime from the practice away from his body.
He can’t recall the last time he had a shower that was so quick and efficient.
He’s so focused on getting the hell out of there that he misses the twin sound of water shutting off and opens the stall door in time to watch the man in question step out of his own cubicle.
They both blink at each other in surprise.
”Isaac.” Hale says, surprise colouring his voice. His fingers tighten in the towel around his waist and god oh god his towel. Isaac can’t stop looking at his towel clad hips. And the abs above them.
Isaac blinks rapidly, keeping his features cool and blank. He nods a “Hale” without sounding choked or strangled and heads for his locker with his head bowed, determined not to look behind him.
This was exactly the kind of interaction he wanted to avoid.
Derek putters in behind him at a slower pace and they both open their lockers, getting out clean changes of clothes. Isaac places his on the bench behind him and focuses on shrugging into his underwear underneath his towel.
Hale clears his voice like he wants to say something but when Isaac doesn’t respond, keeping his eyes down and lips firmly shut, the dark haired man doesn’t say anything.
There’s a sniff and he imagines Derek pulling a face at the smell of his uniform before balling it up and dumping it into his bag. Then he’s so caught up in wondering if Hale is watching him get changed, a the thrill that runs through him at the thought, that when he reaches for his shirt off the bench, he doesn’t realise his hand is grasping thin air.
Confused he looks around himself, back in his locker and then turns to Hale only to snap his mouth shut.
Derek Hale has his shirt on.
It’s so tight Isaac wonders how he hasn’t noticed.
He’s always delighted in being an inch taller than Hale but it means nothing when Derek’s thick shoulders and broad chest stretch Isaac’s shirt almost to the seams.
“Um.”
Hale turns to him, trademark eyebrow lift already in place and if Isaac weren’t half hard he’d smack it right off Hale’s pretty face.
“You got a problem, Lahey?”
“You’re wearing my shirt,” Isaac points, frowning against the blush he can feel rising along his neck.
Hale looks down at himself and then laughs. “I guess I am.” He looks back at Isaac. “What are you going to do about it?”
Isaac blinks because he’s not sure he heard correctly.
“Did you just—“
Hale steps closer, knocking his chest against Isaac’s. Their eyes are almost at the same level and that means that their lips—
“I said,” Hale taunts softly, “what are you going to do about it?”
Isaac launches forward and closes the distance between them. Hale makes a small sound of surprise and then he’s all in, pushing Isaac back and up against the locker and caging him with those ridiculous arms of his.
It’s all push and pull, Isaac nipping sharply at Derek’s lips, lathing over the hurt with his tongue, a not quite apology before he’s going back in and doing it again, biting sharp kisses down the sharp angle of Derek’s jaw and into the chords of his neck.
Isaac is still missing his shirt and Derek takes the opportunity to dig his thumbs into the corners of Isaac’s hips, dragging him impossibly closer.
“Didn’t think you had it in you,” Derek huffs, chin tilted up to give Isaac better access to his neck. He chokes out a groan when Isaac bites down especially hard.
“Shut the fuck up,” Isaac orders, returning to Derek’s lips to kiss away any sharp retort.
Its drugging and addictive kissing Derek and god knows how long passes before there’s a polite knock on the lockers and a cough.
They spring apart guiltily but its only Scott, gaze on his shoes. “I, uh, was wondering what was taking you so long.”
“I’ll be right there,” Isaac croaks, ducking his head.
Scott retreats and Derek is doing nothing to hide his cat got the cream grin. He boldly adjusts himself in his jeans and collects up his things.
“Wait that’s it?” Isaac asks, hand shooting out to catch Derek’s arm.
“Not even close.” Derek leans in for another kiss, softer and gentler. The sweets slide of Derek’s tongue has Isaac rocking forward only to be kissing air when Derek dances out of grasp.
“You’ll get your shirt back next Wednesday,” he promises, winking over his shoulder.
Isaac watches him go, fingers pressed to his lips.
There’s no way he’s waiting until Wednesday.