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Derek knew something was off the second before the door to the loft was slammed open, and Stiles pulled himself across the threshold. His vision flashed red as he shifted at the sound, and was about to clear the balcony when Stiles slammed the door shut, and began muttering to himself.
"Stupid, fucking ughh…” He slammed the door closed and dropped his bag onto the steps. “I should just fucking quit. Stupid fucks…”
"Stiles?" Derek called, and the human looked up, giving a small start.
"Wha- Why are you wolfed-out?” Stiles yelled back in question, quickly scanning the rest of the loft for anything potentially murderous as his hand instantly went to the holster at his hip.
"Stiles, there’s nothing here." Derek willed his heart to return to a normal rhythm so he could force the wolf back into submission. He walked to the stairs and began to descend. Stiles let out a sigh and let his shoulders slump.
"You freaked me out, dude. Coming home to you wolfed-out means danger. I thought we might be under attack or something.”
Derek chuckled as they met in the center of the loft, arms slipping around each other, Stiles resting his head in the crook of Derek’s neck. “I’m fine. There’s nothing else here. When you slammed open the door, I thought the same thing, though.” His heart was just beginning to slow. He could feel his claws and canines begin to retract.
Stiles huffed out a small, pained laugh. “No, sorry. I’m just pissed. Kinda wanted to kill something. Shitty day at work.” Derek’s hands absentmindedly began to untuck his uniform shirt to get at the warm skin of his lower back.
”What happened?”
"Ever since Dad retired, they’ve been giving me shit." Stiles vented, letting himself slump down onto the couch into an awkward sprawl. "Like they think I don’t deserve to be there without riding on his coattails or something." Stiles let his head settle back against the top of the sofa and closed his eyes.
Derek slipped cross-legged onto the cushion next to his mate, still very much inside Stiles’ personal space. “So today…?”
"Oh, yeah, right. Well Sheriff Elliott decided that I shouldn’t go out on patrol today, that I needed to man the front desk." Stiles fumed. "Then he took all my case files, and I had to sit there and answer fucking non-emergency calls all day because the receptionist was out sick."
"What’d your dad say when you told him?" Derek asked as he shifted onto Stiles’ lap, bracketing his hips between his knees as he straddled him. He set to work unbuttoning Stiles’ deputy uniform shirt as the human answered with down-turned eyes.
"I didn’t tell him."
Derek paused. “Why not?”
"Because this isn’t middle school. You don’t just call up daddy when someone’s bothering you." Stiles shot back. "They’re all cops. They’d make my life hell if I did that." He let his head fall back against the top of the sofa, the contours of his long neck flexed into stark relief at the motion.
He was right, probably, but that didn’t make Derek feel any better. So he leaned down and pressed his lips to the hollow of Stiles’ throat, hoping that the warmth might help. Stiles cocked open an eye in suspicion as Derek’s hands slipped underneath the opening of his shirt to wrap around his ribs.
"Can I help you, Hale?" Stiles asked, his tone edging from frustrated into ever so slightly playful. Derek nipped lightly at the skin and withdrew, looking at the solitary amber-brown eye that was squinting at him.
"Yeah, actually," Derek intoned before returning to the sensitive skin underneath Stiles’ jaw. "Keep talking." Derek’s hands worked to unbuckle Stiles’ utility belt and pulled it from underneath his back, enjoying the slight way Stiles arched it to let the cumbersome accessory free. Stiles continued.
"It just sucks. There’s nothing that I can do to make any of them think any better of me. I’m gonna be stuck riding that freaking desk until I either give up and transfer, or Elliott dies."
Derek snorted into Stiles’ neck. “I’m sure that could be arranged.” He could almost feel Stiles’ eye-roll.
"No."
"What, you don’t even want to hear what I was going to suggest?"
"Nope. A lot of them still think the whole Laura thing wasn’t handled all that well and would still like to bring you in for it."
"That was like ten years ago. And Peter was the one that did it."
"They don’t know that. They still think the case went cold, and you were the last suspect."
Derek pulled back from Stiles’ neck, a dark smile curling at the corners of his lips. “I just had a great idea.”
"Wha- no. Absolutely not. I know that look. People have died for that look. I will not be implicated in another-” Derek cut him off with a firm kiss. Stiles’ words froze instantly before they had a chance to leave his tongue.
"Relax," Derek whispered into Stiles’ mouth as their lips slotted together. "I’m not… going to do… anything criminal.” Stiles mumbled something back, words lost underneath Derek’s tongue. But he didn’t say no.
—
They finished their couch-sex right before seven, and Stiles headed into the bathroom to shower as Derek set about heating up leftovers and trying to find a Netflix movie to watch while they ate. It didn’t take him that long, so he shot a quick text to Sheriff Stilinski, and chuckled as his phone lit up when he got a response. When Stiles came back out of the bedroom wearing one of Derek’s henley’s and a pair of sweats, idly drying his hair with a towel, Derek had the plates already waiting on the coffee table, a hard cider cracked open next to Stiles’ plate, and Star Wars queued up on the TV.
By the end of it, not even Stiles remembered his shitty day. They went to bed early, Derek curled up around his mate with his head on his chest, lulled to sleep by his quiet, even snoring.
—
The next day, Stiles was sitting at the reception desk answering the latest phone call, something about Mrs. Robertson three blocks away who was complaining about her neighbor’s cat, when he looked up to see Derek walk in, clad in his usual leather jacket over one of his own flannel shirts, with his dad trailing behind him. Stiles did a double-take before summarily hanging up on Mrs. Robertson and her neighbor’s cat. It didn’t matter. She’d call back. She always did.
"Dad… What are you- what are you doing here?" The Sheriff shrugged. "Derek texted me last night, said we should go to lunch today."
Stiles shot Derek a sideways glance. The werewolf was pretending not to notice. He turned his attention back to his dad just as he heard the startled almost-yell of surprise from behind him. Sheriff Elliott. Great.
"Sh-sheriff? John? What’re you doin’ here?"
His dad’s smile was weathered, maybe a little crooked, but it gave nothing away as he shook his replacement’s hand. Stiles could do nothing but just watch the horror unfold. He made a silent note to himself to kill Derek later. “Just takin’ my two favorite boys to lunch.” He turned to Derek. “This is my son’s husband, Derek.” And yeah, that was it, that was the point that Stiles died a little inside.
"Sir." Derek proffered a hand to Elliott, who blinked in surprise and shook it, his face paling a little in response. Stiles thought he saw the slightest red flash across his mate’s eyes. He bit back a chuckle.
As if on cue, the rest of the deputies (Beacon Hills is a small town, there were like four) made their way out from the back, on their way out for patrol, chit-chatting idly about where to go for lunch on their way. They all kind of froze at the sight of their former boss standing there with the exonerated fugitive that was Derek Hale.
Sheriff Stilinski did a few more quick introductions to wipe the terrified looks off of their faces before turning to Stiles. “Well, kiddo, you ready?” Stiles couldn’t help feeling like a child as he nodded and slipped around the reception desk.
"Where y’all goin’ to lunch?" One of the other deputies asked the elder Stilinski.
"Ray’s. The pizza joint up on 3rd," the Sheriff answered. Stiles shot Derek another look, because only he would have known to plant the idea of his favorite pizza place into his dad’s head. The werewolf was still pointedly avoiding his gaze.
"Cool, can we join? We’re all headed out on patrol, just gonna grab something to go, so we’ll be outta your hair pretty quick."
The elder Stilinski managed an easy smile. “Sure,” he gestured to Stiles and Derek questioningly. “If you guys don’t mind.” Derek answered for both of them before Stiles could put a coherent thought together.
"Nope, sounds good to us." He saw Stiles shoot him another look. He ignored it.
Elliott chimed in, wholly left out of the conversation. “Uh, if y’all are goin’ out on patrol and Stilinski’s going with you, who’s gonna man the desk?”
The sheriff answered quickly with a smile. “You don’t mind, do ya?” He gave his replacement a friendly wink.
"N-no, I guess not," Sheriff Elliott stammered, still unable to say no to the man who had gotten him the job.
Sheriff Stilinski was already out the door with the rest of the group, Stiles following closely behind. He called back over his shoulder before it closed, “I’ll try to have ‘em back to you by two-ish.”
And Sheriff Tom Elliott was left standing there, just as the phone started ringing again. Stiles was just about to let the door closed as the sheriff looked at it. “You might wanna get that. It’s probably Mrs. Robertson again.” He let the door close as he jogged to catch up to his dad and Derek before they got to the car.
—
Derek gave Stiles a smug smile just before they walked into the restaurant. The Sheriff had just gone in, and Stiles had made to follow, but Derek caught his arm.
"I told you I wasn’t going to do anything criminal." Stiles glared at him, amber-brown eyes smoldering under the scowl.
"My dad, though? Seriously?" Stiles asked, his lips already betraying the smile that formed beneath them as he rolled his eyes. "That was your ‘great idea’?"
"Whatever, you’ll thank me for it later." Derek chuckled before he brought their lips together. The kiss was warm and short, a prelude to be continued when Stiles got home that night. As they pulled apart, Stiles licked his lips absentmindedly, a placid smile etched across his face.
"Yeah, probably," Stiles sighed happily as he took Derek’s hand, and they walked into the restaurant. His day was better already.