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Struts is everything like Stiles remembers it from when he tried it out the first week on campus. It’s kind of cramped and loud from patrons as well as the large flat screen TVs mounted on the walls covered in all types of sports memorabilia each one blaring different sports channels.
But despite all that the air conditioner on full blast when the pair of them step inside is like a gift from the gods on his overheated scorched skill, the mirrored sigh from Derek tells him that he appreciates it as well.
They stand just inside the doorway as Derek’s eyes scan the crowd and after a moment his eyes zero in on what looks like most of the JSU baseball team and many of their fans. Derek shrugs his arm in Stiles hold slightly and nods his head over to the group that takes up most of the back of the dining room, but doesn’t even attempt to dislodge him. Stiles does not preen, he absolutely does not… okay, maybe he does just a little. But that is totally not unwarranted since he and Derek have not unlaced their arms from each other’s since they left the arena and opted to walk the short way to the sports bar and grill.
“Hale! You finally decided to grace us with your presence!” A blonde guy, obviously a teammate judging by the grass stained baseball uniform, with blue eyes like a snake and cheek bones sharp enough to cut diamonds with snarks, raising a nearly drained pitcher of beer in his direction when the duo approaches the table.
Derek snorts and smacks the guys ball cap off of his head which only serves for his teammate to scowl, his eyebrows doing an impressive war dance. The scowl though is short lived when tanned muscled arms slide around his shoulders and someone smacks a loud kiss against his cheek which makes his cheeks go bright red and his eyes look less reptilian.
“Jackson babe, lay off. Remember Derek won the game for us dickwad,” the tan boy chides but his tone is fond and lacks and heat. Jackson shrugs but leans his back against tan boys chest, the tiniest of tiny smiles quirking up the corners of his mouth.
Derek positively brightens over the mention of winning the game, his smile blinding and making Stiles want to just stare at that smile all night long.
“This pair of love birds here are Jackson and Danny,” Derek introduces them. The tan boy, or Danny, gives Stiles a tiny wave and a bashful smile from where he’s still wrapped around who is presumably Jackson.
“Who’s the princess?” Jackson asks sarcastically, raising what’s left of the mug of his beer to his lips to take a long gulp. Stiles bristles at him and huffs, his cheeks blossoming heat under the already tight sunburned skin but relaxes when Danny cuffs the back of his head and then has the decency to at least look apologetic.
“Ignore Prince Charming over there, he’s just still butt hurt that my uncle stole his now ex-girlfriend from him,” Derek mutters next to his ear, making it to where only Stiles can hear and instantly he knows it’s probably still a sore spot for the blonde so he nods as Derek turns back to the two. “This is Stiles,” he gives a pointed look to Jackson who waves him off, “he was one of our supporters at the game today and I asked him to join us for the celebrations.”
Danny eyes Stiles up and then gives him a wicked smile that he still manages to make look bashful. “Oh, you were the guy hollerin’ up a storm in the stands.”
Stiles feels himself go tomato red glances away and shrugs, beside him Derek chuckles and bumps their shoulders. When he looks back up Danny is still grinning but it’s a much softer expression and Stiles knows he already likes him.
“How about you goofs make some room for Hale and his date?” Danny practically shouts at the table and Stiles resists the urge to retreat out the door. The table goes silent for a half a second but then the players are shifting around and manage to produce two spots that leave Stiles pressed right up against Derek so he doesn’t fall onto the floor.
At first Stiles feels really awkward. More awkward than usual in fact without his usual buffer of Scott. At this table he doesn’t really know anyone, only hears names that he’s vaguely heard around campus but can’t place the faces.
It’s after he and Derek have placed their orders with the rest of the loud group and been ID’d for their own pitcher of beer does he feel eyes on him. His gaze lifts and flits around the tabl, his eyes land on one of the player’s girlfriends. She’s tan with honey wheat blond hair and dark eyes and the smile that’s spread on her ruby lips just screams fierce as hell.
She leans on the table as she looks at him, though her hands never leave the one of the dark skinned centerfielder. Stiles swallows hard and shrinks against Derek’s side who notices instantly and snorts.
“Catwoman over there would be named Erica Reyes, she’s mostly harmless. Next to her is her boyfriend Vernon Boyd but everyone calls him Boyd, and on the other side of her is Isaac Reyes.” Stiles struggles to comprehend all the names being thrown at him but his mind stutters when his eyes slide from Erica and Isaac.
“They’re siblings? They look nothing alike.” He says but flinches when he realizes he says it really loud, Erica’s high barking laugh cutting through the din of the others for a moment. When he looks back at her, her gaze is nothing but warm though still like a tigress lying in wait.
“He’s my adopted brother and the best damn short stop the Gamecocks have ever seen!” Erica croons as she reaches over and ruffles Isaac’s mop of blonde curls. Embarrassed though smiling Isaac sinks down into his sink and halfheartedly bats Erica’s hand away. Stiles really just wants to launch himself across the table and hug Isaac for being so adorable.
They all fall into a companionable silence after that, one that Stiles for once doesn’t feel like he has to fill with his inane chatter. He smiles around his bite of hotwing when Derek’s foot hooks around his ankle and in return he bumps their shoulders together.
In all Stiles can imagine himself really liking this Derek guy. He knows that he knows absolutely zilch about him besides his name and jersey number and that he could stare at Derek’s smile for literally hours if given the chance but he really knows nothing about him. And for the life of him he just wants to fix that, no matter how long the process actually takes.
They steal glances at each other through their meal, grinning at each other over the brim of their beer mugs, their feet still hooked together in a way that reminds Stiles of two giddy teenagers. It’s all perfect Stiles thinks to himself and it surprises him that everything seems to be going off without a hitch because stuff like this never happens to Stiles.
And then of course a mostly drunk Jackson tips his newly refilled mug over and it rushes across the table and pools in Stiles lap.
He yelps and jumps from the table only to trip and fall flat on his ass when his foot stays tangled with Derek’s. People around them roar with laughter, including Jackson who is too drunk to care about the mess he’s made or notice the absolute death glare Danny is giving him as he scrambles to sop of the spilled beer with as many paper towels that can be passed his way.
Stiles would like nothing more for the sticky disgusting ground to open up beneath him and just swallow him up to rid him of the embarrassment. But then there’s a large tan hand in front of his face and when he looks up he sees Derek grinning down at him.
“C’mon, I’ll help you get cleaned up.” Derek nods his head and Stiles looks over his shoulder and sees the archway that leads back to the bathrooms. With the help of Derek Stiles climbs up from the floor winces at how his shirt clings to him, Derek’s barely stifled laugh doesn’t go unnoticed.
Inside the cramped little bathroom the loudness is noticeably muted and Stiles sighs with relief, following Derek to the double sink. He watches as Derek grabs a couple of paper towels and wets them under the faucet. Stiles can’t help but watch the muscles shift under his uniform shirt or watch Derek’s face in the mirror, dark eyelashes fanning out over his cheekbones.
Derek suddenly looks up and his reflection meets Stiles gaze and he sucks in a sharp breath, swears he can feel the charge in the air between them.
When the baseball player steps away from the sink and is then all in Stiles space he expects to be manhandled up against the door all rough and savagely, expects hard kisses with too much tongue and teeth and testosterone laced grunts and groans and wanton grinding. What he does not expect at all is Derek to drop the soggy wad of paper towels and close the microscopic space between them and simply lean in and press his lips hesitantly against Stiles.
Stiles stands there frozen, eyes blown wide open, caught in the most innocent dry closed mouthed kiss he’s ever experienced in his life. Derek’s lips are a warm pressure against his, they don’t press forward into the kiss or try to make it anything more, they’re just there, giving Stiles every opportunity to move away or initiate more. And oh holy baby Jesus on cheese and crackers does he ever want more. But the synopses in his brain misfire and delay all reactions and he’s just stunned that Derek baseball winning Hale is actually kissing him.
The seconds pass and Stiles just cannot fucking move, not until Derek obviously misinterprets the hesitation and starts to pull back. Stiles can already feel the apologies and awkward stammering Derek is no doubt about to spouting profusely. That makes his gears finally turn and jump into action. With a tiny, of course manly, noise of protest Stiles chases Derek’s lips with his own and presses them firmly together; more than Derek’s light pressure and threads his arms around Derek’s neck like a lemur.
Derek startles, freezes in place, just for a moment before he’s melting into the kiss, his hands going to Stiles hips like heat seeking missiles and latch on tightly. Stiles hums appreciatively and nips at the baseball players lower lips which causes him to automatically open up. Stiles takes the opportunity to lick into his mouth, just the flick of his tongue, and all but sags against Derek, the taste of cheap beer and the spicy bite of hot wing sauce doing all kinds of things to him that he’s pretty sure shouldn’t, ever, even drunk let alone completely sober.
The sweet kiss turns frantic in the blink of an eye. He’s not sure what causes the shift, but he isn’t one to question it when Derek’s strong hold has him hoisted around his waist and then plopped down onto the counter of the sink with Derek standing right between his legs which are clinging to the heavenly jut of his hip bones.
Stiles is wantonly and shamelessly grappling at every available bit of Derek that he can get his hands on and Derek is doing the same all while trying to move in closer between his legs, the confining white baseball pants making Derek’s erection extremely prominent as his hips move subconsciously in a slow rut which makes Stiles own dick stir with interest to see what all the excitement is about.
He’s two second away from just reaching his hand into Derek’s pants just to see how he feels like when a very loud pointed cough startles them. While Derek goes stone still Stiles absolutely flails and gives a choked shriek, the noise of the restaurant finally registering through his almost sexy times haze. Neither of them had heard the door open but there standing in the doorway is Danny who is mostly supporting a very inebriated Jackson. Behind them he can just make out Erica for a brief moment, her phone held out in front of her a moment before the flash goes off and then she’s sprinting back out into the hallway cackling.
“I kind of need to clean Jackson up,” Danny mutters sheepishly but his grin gives away that he’s highly amused as he leads Jackson to one of the stalls.
Derek turns back to Stiles and Stiles tries to look anywhere but him, sliding as gracefully as a newly born giraffe off of the bathroom counter and shifts awkwardly.
His attention is drawn back up to Derek when the player clears his throat. His green eyes are bright and there’s a playful grin on his face that Stiles can’t help but mirror.
“So,” Derek starts out, absently licking his lips in a way that already makes Stiles want to climb him, “I know this is completely backwards but, is there any way I could maybe get your number?” Stiles can just make out Derek’s blush and his grin widens.
“Yeah,” Stiles says already reaching into his back pocket to grab his phone. “I’d like that a lot.”
He doesn’t care that they’re standing in the middle of a too cramped sports bar bathroom. He doesn’t care that not even two feet away Jackson is retching and dry heaving up a storm. He doesn’t even care that his shirt is ice cold and wet and smells like beer. Because when Derek hands him back his phone, new contact programmed in and, Stiles notes with amusement, added as one of his favorite contacts, Derek is smiling the biggest and best smile he’s ever seen and he knows that this is right. He feels like this could go somewhere amazing.