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If Stiles had been feeling a little less maudlin, he would have noticed the bartender right away. Because an ass like that with that body and a face to match? Yeah, that deserved to be noticed. As it was, he slouched his way up to the counter, plopped himself in a stool and waited until large fingers tapped the counter before mumbling, "Rum and coke", without looking up. He was heartbroken okay? He was allowed to be rude and morose. It was in the rules or something.
There was a snort, but a glass plunked down in front of him all the same, condensation dripping like the tears of his soul down its sides. Frowning, Stiles scooted it closed, had a mild battle with his tongue and the short black straw, then promptly made a face. His drink was sticky and sweet and distinctly lacking alcohol. Squinting at it he finally looked up to see the bartender, bulging arms crossed over a bigger chest, ridiculously pretty features and judging expression, waiting. "I think you forgot the rum," he blurted, slightly (a lot) overwhelmed.
One thick eyebrow quirked but the man said nothing.
Stiles, blinked, remembered himself and shook his glass, ice rattling and coke sloshing. "In my rum and coke?"
This time both eyebrows went up before the bartender's arms unfolded and one hand reached out, palm up. Broad fingers (and if Stiles hadn't been wallowing he would have had dirty thoughts about those fingers) curled into a very come hither fashion and Stiles would have been confused if the words, "Some ID," hadn't accompanied the action.
Stiles flushed. "Oh, um. You see," he began. "I forgot it at home, you know? And it's a really long way home. And as shitty as this neighborhood is, it's got nothing on the one I live in. So, really, it's much safer for me to drink here and not go home."
Mr. Eyebrows wasn't buying it. Stiles tried again. "Honestly, I am legal. I'm not lying. Here, listen to my heartbeat," he thrust out his wrist. "I just forgot."
An incredulous look crossed the bartender's face, before he just shook his head and leaned forward. "Until you un-forget the fact that there is no way you're twenty one, I'm forgetting the rum."
Scowling, shoulders slumped and somewhat surprised he hadn't actually been kicked out, Stiles kicked his feet moodily and muttered, "I'm legal in Canada."
This time he got a snort. "Move to Canada then."
Stiles sighed, full bodied and desolate. "Maybe I should," he intoned. "I hear they're super accepting of fluid sexuality up there."
"Fluid sexu... You know what, I don't want to know." The man shook his head and turned away.
"You are a terrible bartender," Stiles called after him. "I thought bartenders were supposed to be good listeners and give good advice."
"I hear Canadians are polite. Try there."
"Ha ha. Funny," Stiles grumbled. "So fucking funny. You should be a comedian." Slurping down the rest of his frankly rather disappointing coke, he lifted his empty glass, narrowed his eyes and called out, "I just got dumped you know. The least you could do is give me a shot. I can't even go home and drink since I've been sexiled by my roommate. And I know I didn't care at the time, because you know, I'd planned on doing the same. But then I had to go and admit during the pre-sex movie that I thought the main guy was hot. Because honestly? Zachary Quinto? I'd so tap that. But then! Then it turns out when I said my exes name was Taylor she'd thought Taylor like Taylor Swift and not Taylor like Taylor Lautner. So I got the whole speech on 'I don't want to be an experiment in straightness and I don't do threesomes' or some shit like that. Turns out I was probably dating a homophobe, which so uncool. And it's not like I'm gay or straight anyway. There is this middle ground called bi-sexuality which I fully embrace. So yeah....," he trailed off awkwardly.
The bartender only stared, face twitching like it couldn't decide if it wanted to scowl or cry. It settled finally on judgmental, eyebrows drawn and everything. Stiles squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, brain catching up to his mouth and holy god had he really just said all that? Wincing he muttered, "Don't judge me dude."
"Don't call me dude." The dude replied drily. "And who said I was?"
"Your eyebrows were, well are. They're doing some serious judging right now. All dark and foreboding and judgmental. Like angry caterpillars."
"Christ." One hand reached up to rasping down over thick stubble in a manner that spoke of growing irritation. It was pretty sexy stubble, Stiles could recognize that now that he'd actually taken time to study the man's face. Stiles couldn't grow a five o'clock shadow like that if he took five weeks. "Do you ever shut up?" stubble-face asked.
Stiles rolled his eyes. "No." He paused. "Dude." Now he was just being a brat, Stiles knew it, the bartender knew it. But annoyed was a good look on the guy and really, he hadn't run yet or tried to hit Stiles or even tried to kick him out. That was a good sign. If Stiles wasn't still upset about his broken heart (Although now that he really thought about it, it was more his pride that took a blow since this had only been their fifth date. He was man enough to admit he wasn't exactly looking for the Disney romance style love his roommate Scott professed for his girlfriend. He was just your typical college guy wanting to have a good time while still respecting his partner.), then he would totally classify this as the beginnings of flirting. Pigtail pulling style.
"Right," he poured Stiles another coke sans rum and slid it across the counter before moving to the till without another word.
"Rude", Stiles muttered under his breath, uncaring if he was being hypocritical to the max. Not even caring when the smirk on the bartender's lips told him he'd heard the quip. Serves him right.
Frowning petulantly, Stiles watched from over the rim of his glass as the bartender punched in Stiles' order, then went to serve the very few other patrons of the establishment. And by few, Stiles meant the creepy old man drinking himself into a stupor at the other end of the bar and the couple having a not so whispered fight at a table to the left. Classy joint this was.
Sadly, without alcohol to dull his senses, people to watch, or at least some form of distraction Stiles tended to get bored rather easily. Which was never a good idea. "Hey barkeep!" he shouted, watching with glee as the man froze mid-step and actually winced. Stiles grinned. "Can I have a Rye and Sprite please?"
"No."
"Please? Pretty please?" Stiles pulled out the puppy eyes, big and gold and not quite as effective as Scott's but he'd been practicing damn it. And he legitimately had sad sources to draw from.
Scowly paused for a half second, swallowed, then narrowed his eyes. He didn't even bother with a comeback, just poured a glass of Sprite - no Rye - and stated, "Drink your Sprite or leave."
Stiles made a face at him but too the drink anyway. Boring soda that it was.
Ten minutes later the other three patrons of the bar were gone and it was just the two of them. Narrowing his eyes, figuring this was the best chance he had while no one was around to witness any misdeeds, Stiles tried again. Waving one arm, he stretched over the counter and held up a finger like he was actually in a crowded bar and not a dead end empty pub. "Whiskey on the rocks!"
He got a rather spectacular eye roll for that, but there was almost the beginnings of what could be a (maybe exasperated) smile on the guy's lips. Even as he said, "I'd cut you off, but I haven't actually given you any alcohol."
Stile smiled sweetly, "Which you could rectify."
"Which I am not going to."
"Whatever dude. I will wear you down. By the end of the night I will have you begging to serve me."
"Derek. It's Derek, stop calling me dude," the bartender, no Derek, coughed out after an awkwardly pregnant pause, the tips of his ears turning a shade of pink that was utterly charming and a bit confusing. At least until Stiles reversed time in his head and thought about what he'd just said. Then his mouth fell open with a surprised little squeak that had the flush on Derek's ears deepening.
"Oh-" Stiles breathed. "Oh, oh. I did not expect that. At all. Like I know we had the pigtails thing sort of going on or at least I did, but really? Are you telling me I have game and I didn't even know it? That is impressive. I am impressive. Have you looked at you lately? Oh, and Stiles. My name that is, or at least the name I go by. You don't want to know the real one and I don't think I've actually introduced myself." He leaned forward and batted his eyelashes in a ridiculous fashion.
Derek made a choked noise somewhere between embarrassment and what Stiles liked to think was horrified amusement. He watched as Derek just blinked at him before shaking his head and muttering, "You really don't shut up. At all."
"Not unless I've got something in my mouth," Stiles chirped back cheerfully. Now that he knew he might have a chance he was going to throw out all the moves. Bring out the big guns so to speak.
Sure enough, Derek's flush actually made its way down to his neck this time and Stiles grinned brightly.
"I thought you were suffering from a broken heart," Derek grumbled as he turned around and grabbed a bottle of whiskey off the shelf.
"For me?" Stiles gasped. He really was good. "And yeah well, really more like broken pride dosed with a healthy mix of indignation and outrage. Besides, isn't rebound sex like mandatory after a breakup?"
"No," Derek rasped out, looking a little dazed around the edges as he poured out a shot and promptly knocked it back himself.
Stiles frowned. "I'm going to take that as a no to the shot. At least I hope that's the only no. Unless I came on too strong. Did I do that? Because I know I do that sometimes. There's this whole lack of filter which, you know, got me into this bar in the first place. Cuz really, a little blush at an innuendo could just mean that you are a prude and not actually interested. Oh, shit. Is that the case? Did I read this all wrong? Because I could have. In which case you should really just tell me or kick me out or something before I embarrass myself further and-"
"Stiles." Derek cut him off, looking alarmed. "For god's sake. Shut. Up."
Opening his mouth and snapping it back shut at the (sexy) glare he received, Stiles shrunk back in his seat and sighed. Well that was probably that then, another failed attempt at seduction. His pride really was going to be in shambles by the end of the night. Although honestly, hitting on someone that looked like Derek was just asking to be put down. Derek was way out of like 99% of the population's league. Huffing softly, cheeks burning, he averted his eyes and reached into his pocket to dig out his wallet. It was probably better to just settle his bill and get the hell out of dodge. He heard park benches were a nice place to crash while waiting for roommates to get some action while you were forever alone and sexless.
"Stiles." Damn it, his name really shouldn't sound so good coming from Derek's mouth, especially not that gently.
Wrinkling his nose, he looked up, only to find a shot glass in front of him, brimming with the burning smell of whiskey. "I'm not a prude," Derek grouched quietly as he pushed it forward, cheeks stained an adorable pink.
Stiles stared at him for a second, before a tiny smile tugged at his lips and worked his way into a full blown grin. Leaning forward, he wrapped his fingers around the glass and purred, "Why Derek, you aren't trying to get me drunk and pliable are you?"
If anything, Derek only blushed harder even as he muttered, "I hardly think I need to at this point."
Laughing delightedly, Stiles downed the shot and slammed it back on the tabletop, his grin wide and happy. "Too true my man. Too true. Now tell me.... What time do you usually get off?" He paused for a long, exaggerated wink, pink tongue just peeking out between his teeth, "Pun intended."
Derek cursed and fumbled the glass in his hands.
END