Work Text:
The problem, Isabelle decided, was the sun.
It had to be.
There was no other reasonable explanation for why her husband looked that offensively attractive while doing something as mundane as leaning over the open hood of an old Mustang.
Sunlight poured through the wide-open garage doors of the Hale workshop, catching every floating speck of dust in the warm afternoon air. Somewhere outside, cicadas buzzed relentlessly in the trees, while inside the workshop an ancient radio played classic rock beneath the occasional metallic clang of tools.
Peter Hale stood beneath the raised hood with his sleeves shoved up to his elbows, exposing strong forearms streaked with grease. His dark gray T-shirt had seen better days. There was a smudge of black across one shoulder, another along his ribs, and sweat had darkened the material between his shoulder blades.
His jeans weren't helping. At all. Isabelle sat on a stool near the workbench with an iced tea in her hand, staring openly. She hadn't taken a sip in at least five minutes.
Beside her, Stiles was having precisely the same problem. Derek was working on his Camaro a few feet away, half underneath the front end with his legs sticking out. He had apparently decided sleeves were unnecessary at some point during the afternoon because his discarded shirt was currently hanging over the back of a chair.
Which meant Derek was wearing a black tank top. A black tank top that was rapidly becoming the mortal enemy of Stiles Stilinski's ability to behave like a respectable adult. Stiles slowly leaned toward his twin. "Izzytron."
"I know."
"I didn't even say anything."
"You didn't have to."
They sat silently for another few seconds. Derek slid out from beneath the car. Both twins inhaled. Derek sat up, wiped the back of his wrist across his forehead, and unknowingly left a streak of grease near his temple.
Stiles made a tiny strangled noise. Isabelle immediately covered her mouth.
"No," Stiles whispered.
Isabelle's shoulders began shaking. "No, because this is bullshit."
"What?"
"He doesn't even know."
Derek looked over. "Know what?"
Stiles shrieked "Nothing!"
Isabelle lost it. Her laughter escaped behind her hand, and Stiles elbowed her while desperately trying not to laugh himself. Derek narrowed his eyes at them. Peter didn't bother looking away from the engine. "They're objectifying us."
"We are not," Isabelle protested.
Stiles nodded solemnly. "Absolutely not."
Peter finally lifted his head. Isabelle's eyes immediately dropped to his forearms. Peter followed her gaze. A slow, smug smile spread across his face. "Really?"
Isabelle looked up. "Don't."
"Oh, sweetheart." Peter leaned casually against the Mustang. "You haven't blinked in approximately three minutes."
"I blink."
"Not often enough to convince me you're interested in the engine."
"I'm very interested in the engine."
Peter's eyebrow rose. Isabelle glanced toward the open hood. She knew absolutely nothing about what was underneath it. "The...carburetor?"
There was silence. Stiles snorted. Derek looked physically pained. Peter's smile widened. "It's fuel injected."
"Well, obviously I knew that."
"Of course."
"I was testing you."
"Naturally."
Stiles leaned closer to Isabelle. "Excellent recovery."
"Thank you."
"Completely believable."
"Shut up."
Derek shook his head and reached for a wrench. Stiles watched his arm flex. Then slowly turned toward Isabelle again. "Oh my God."
"I know."
"Do they practice that?"
"They have to."
"Practice what?" Derek demanded.
The twins simultaneously looked innocent.
"Nothing," they chorused.
Peter chuckled. Unlike Derek, Peter wasn't remotely embarrassed by the attention. Quite the opposite. The moment he'd realized his wife had been watching him for most of the afternoon, he'd become insufferable. He pushed his sleeves slightly higher. Isabelle stared. Peter reached deeper into the engine compartment. Isabelle stared harder. Peter shifted his stance. Her eyes dropped. Peter smirked.
Stiles caught the entire exchange and slapped a hand over his mouth. "Oh, he's doing it on purpose."
"I KNOW."
Peter glanced over his shoulder. "Doing what?"
"You know exactly what you're doing."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Liar."
Peter's expression was pure satisfaction. Derek looked between them. "Can we please fix the cars without turning this into whatever the hell this is?"
Stiles immediately looked at him. Derek froze. Stiles smiled.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Stiles."
"Nothing, big guy."
Derek pointed the wrench at him. "Stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like—" Derek gestured vaguely. "That."
Stiles leaned back against the workbench and crossed his arms. "I'm just appreciating craftsmanship."
Isabelle choked on her tea. Peter actually laughed. Derek stared at his boyfriend. "Craftsmanship?"
"Mm-hmm."
"You're not even looking at the car."
"I'm not talking about the car."
Derek's ears turned pink. Stiles lit up. "Oh my God."
"Don't."
"You're blushing."
"I'm hot."
"You certainly are."
"Mischief."
"What? You walked directly into that one."
Isabelle was practically folded over with laughter. Peter glanced at his wife. "You seem entertained."
She straightened and wiped beneath her eyes. "Very."
"Should I be concerned about what you and your brother have been discussing over there?"
"No."
"Yes," Stiles said.
Isabelle whipped around. "Traitor."
Peter's eyebrows rose. Stiles pointed at his twin. "She said your ass looks phenomenal in those jeans."
Isabelle's mouth dropped open.
Peter looked delighted.
"MIECZYSLAW!"
"You said it!"
"That was sibling confidentiality!"
"There's no such thing!"
"There absolutely is!"
"You threatened to tell Derek I said his arms should be illegal!"
Derek's head snapped toward them. Stiles slowly closed his eyes.
Isabelle smiled sweetly. "Sibling confidentiality."
Peter laughed so hard he had to brace one hand against the car. Derek looked at Stiles. "My arms should be illegal?"
Stiles refused to make eye contact. "I was speaking objectively."
"Objectively?"
"Scientifically."
"Scientifically?"
"Very rigorous research."
Isabelle nodded. "Peer reviewed."
Stiles pointed at her. "Exactly."
Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. Peter, meanwhile, had abandoned any pretense of working. He grabbed a rag and wiped his hands as he walked toward Isabelle.
She watched him approach. Which was another mistake. Because apparently there was something deeply unfair about Peter Hale walking across a mechanic's workshop with grease on his hands, sweat at his throat, his wedding ring catching the sunlight, and that knowing little smirk on his face. Isabelle swallowed.
Stiles noticed. "Oh, you're screwed."
"Shut up."
Peter stopped directly in front of his wife. "Phenomenal?"
Isabelle tipped her head back to look at him. "I don't know what you're referring to."
"My ass."
Derek groaned from across the workshop. Stiles burst out laughing. Isabelle's cheeks went pink, but she refused to surrender. She looked Peter straight in the eye. "Yes."
Peter's eyebrows lifted slightly.
"Objectively," Isabelle added.
"Naturally."
"I'm married. I'm allowed to look."
"You're allowed to do considerably more than look."
Stiles made a gagging noise. Derek immediately pointed at Peter. "Don't encourage them."
Peter glanced over. "Why not?"
"Because they've been sitting there giggling like thirteen-year-olds for the last hour."
"We have not," Isabelle protested.
Derek gave her a flat look. Stiles whispered, "We absolutely have."
Isabelle whispered back, "I know, but not the point!"
Peter stepped between Isabelle's knees and rested his hands lightly on her thighs. "Personally, I appreciate my wife's enthusiasm."
"Of course you do," Derek muttered.
Peter smiled down at Isabelle. "I married a woman with excellent taste."
Isabelle grinned. "Damn right you did."
"And apparently no shame."
She considered that. "Not where you're concerned."
Peter looked ridiculously pleased. Stiles watched them for a moment before turning toward Derek. Derek immediately noticed. "No."
"I didn't say anything."
"You were about to."
"I was just thinking."
"That's usually worse."
Stiles hopped down from the workbench and wandered toward him. Derek watched suspiciously. Stiles stopped directly in front of him. His gaze traveled slowly from Derek's grease-streaked face, over his shoulders, down his arms, across his chest, and finally back up. Derek's jaw tightened.
Stiles smiled. "Respectfully."
"No."
"Very respectfully."
"No."
"Your boyfriend is hot," Isabelle called.
Stiles pointed toward her without looking away from Derek. "Thank you!"
"But my husband is hotter!!"
Stiles finally turned. "Okay, let's not get delusional."
Isabelle gasped. Peter looked amused while Derek looked exhausted.
Isabelle narrowed her eyes at her twin "Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
"Peter Hale is objectively the superior Hale."
"Incorrect."
"Correct."
"Derek."
"Peter."
"My Boyfriend."
"My HUSBAND!"
Peter folded his arms across his chest. Derek immediately realized what he'd done. Peter's eyebrow lifted. Derek sighed. "Don't."
Isabelle's eyes dropped to Peter's crossed arms.
Stiles caught it. "Oh, shit."
"What?"
"Look at his arms."
"I've BEEN looking at his arms."
Peter's smirk returned. Derek threw the wrench onto the workbench with a clang. "That's it."
Stiles blinked. "What's it?"
"We're done."
"But the car—"
"Can wait."
Derek grabbed his shirt from the chair. Stiles immediately protested. "No!"
Everyone stopped. Stiles stared at the shirt. Then at Derek, then at the shirt again. Derek's expression slowly changed. Isabelle slapped both hands over her mouth. Peter started laughing. Stiles straightened with as much dignity as he could manage. "I mean... it's hot."
Derek stared at him.
"Temperature-wise," Stiles clarified.
"Sure."
"Heat stroke is serious."
"Mm-hmm."
"You should stay properly ventilated."
Derek dropped the shirt back onto the chair. Stiles smiled triumphantly.
Derek stepped closer. "You happy?"
"Extremely."
Derek tried to maintain the annoyed expression. Unfortunately, the corner of his mouth twitched.
Stiles saw it. "There it is!"
Derek immediately frowned again. "What?"
"You like it."
"No."
"You love me."
"I tolerate you."
"You're enjoying this."
Derek rolled his eyes, but he didn't move away when Stiles reached up and wiped his thumb across the grease streak near Derek's temple.
Stiles smiled softly. "My sexy mechanic."
Derek's ears went pink again. Isabelle made an exaggerated cooing sound. Derek glared at her. Peter leaned toward his wife. "You realize he's going to ban both of you from the workshop."
"He won't."
"Why not?"
Isabelle gestured toward Derek and Stiles. Derek had one hand resting at Stiles' waist now, despite his continued attempt to look annoyed.
"Because he's a Hale."
Peter considered his nephew. Then looked down at his own hands resting comfortably on Isabelle's thighs. "Fair."
Isabelle smiled. Peter leaned closer. "So."
"So?"
"Would you like me to return to work?"
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why?"
"No reason."
"Peter."
"There's still another hour or two of daylight."
"And?"
"And apparently my wife finds watching me work... stimulating."
"Peter!"
Stiles immediately dissolved into laughter. Derek groaned. Peter merely kissed Isabelle's forehead and stepped away, smug beyond reason. He returned to the Mustang. Picked up his wrench. Rolled his shoulders.
Then very deliberately leaned beneath the hood again. Isabelle stared. Stiles stared at her staring. Then he slowly looked toward Derek. Derek was reaching overhead for something on a shelf. His tank top rode up slightly. Stiles stared.
The twins looked at each other. There was a beat of silence. Then both dissolved into helpless giggles.
Derek closed his eyes. "Unbelievable."
Peter glanced over his shoulder, completely basking in it. "I don't know. I find it rather flattering."
"Of course you do."
"We're objectively appreciating our men!" Isabelle called.
"Respectfully!" Stiles added.
Isabelle glanced at Peter's ass. Stiles glanced at Derek's arms. The twins looked at each other again.
"Disrespectfully," Isabelle corrected.
Peter's grin could have powered the entire workshop. Derek shook his head, but the smile he was trying desperately to hide ruined the performance.
The cars could wait. Apparently, Hale Workshop had become an entirely different kind of attraction.
And the Stilinski twins had front-row seats.