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It’s been officially declared too hot to function, which means Stiles felt like his skin was about to boil off and puddle on the ground before evaporating into the atmosphere. And, as Stiles has survived countless attacks by supernatural beings for several years now, that would be a pretty sad way to die. So, when Boyd mentioned that the ice skating rink had been having a slow time lately, he jumped at the opportunity to cool off (though, he phrased it as “support a local business”), as did the rest of the pack. Derek is reluctantly dragged into all this because of Isaac’s Puppy Dog Eyes of Doom (“Which Do Not Exist, Stiles!”) and Erica saying: “Pack bonding is important, Derek!” as she grabbed him by the arm and literally pulled him out of the loft.
Everyone else (Stiles included) was skirting around on the ice, years of birthday parties and school trips allowing them to move around easily, but Derek was still glowering on the other side of the glass, skates in hand, just watching. Stiles frowned at this, because he was kind of looking forward to seeing the ever-graceful Alpha (and, he isn’t even being sarcastic when he calls him that; when he isn’t flat on his back, the dude fights like a ballet dancing ninja) on ice. He skated over to investigate, because curiosity hadn’t killed the cat yet.
“Hey, Sourwolf, are you going to come out and join the party?” he asked. Derek shook his head emphatically. “Aw, come on! You rented the skates!”
“Erica forced me to.” Derek pointed out.
Stiles pushed on. “Not my point! The point is, you have them, so use them! What’s it going to say to the Betas if Mr. Fearless Leader isn’t joining in on the pack activities?”
This seemed to convince Derek, because he made a disgusted noise and began putting on the skates. Stiles grinned and mentally patted himself on the back.
After a few moments, Derek sighed, and shakily stepped onto the ice, wobbling and pinwheeling to stay upright, looking flustered and frustrated (and, maybe the tiniest bit adorable, to Stiles anyway.) Stiles almost laughed, but something else in Derek’s expression stopped him. Flustered, frustrated, yes, but he also looked- “Dude, are you scared?”
Derek gave an indignant huff. “No.” he muttered, but he was still wobbling like a newborn colt and looking like a guy whose date ditched him on the dance floor at prom (which was to say incredibly frigging awkward.) Stiles sighed.
“Haven’t you ever done this before?” he asked. Derek shook his head, and Stiles should have known. He’s talking to Mr. “My Childhood Mirrors That of Batman” Hale, of frigging course he’s never been ice skating.
And of frigging course Stiles was going to help him, because the entire concept made Stiles coo and flail on the inside. He sighed again. “Jesus Christ, come here.”
Derek looked confused. “Stiles what-” Stile skated over and grabbed his arm before he could finish speaking.
“Lesson time, Big Bad; just hold onto my arm.” And, just like that, he was dragging him forward, and Derek’s free hand flapped in the air as uselessly as a penguin’s when attempting flight before he grabbed onto Stiles’ arm and held on like a drowning man.
The other pack members all glanced at them as the skirted by, various degrees of bemusement and amusement on their faces. Neither Stiles nor Derek really cared, though (or really even noticed), the former muttering encouragements (“See? It’s not that bad. It’s easy; you don’t even have to pick your foot up. Just slide it forward- good, good, like that.”) and the latter still gripping Stiles’ arm and having a minor crisis. (“Oh my god, Stiles, no, no, no, no, no, this is not okay, I wasn’t meant to- no! No, no, no, stop letting go. Stop that, stop-Stiles!”) Lydia and Allison giggled as they went past and Scott looked equally disturbed and smug.
Stiles had come to the conclusion that Derek wasn’t going to stop cutting off the circulation in his arm anytime soon, which, hey, he’d love to have Derek Hale hanging off of him (it may or may not be a dream of his) but, he was quite partial to the arm in question, so, it had to stop. “I’m going to let go.” he said slowly. “And you’re going to be fine.”
Derek’s eyes widened. “Don’t you dare.”
Stiles huffed. “Derek, you’re killing my arm and you will be fine. You’re a grown ass wolf man, a little ice won’t hurt you. Now, on the count of three: one-”
“Stiles, I-”
“-Two-”
“I really-”
“-Three!” Stiles pulled away abruptly and Derek flailed, trying to regain his balance. He did, standing upright and gliding smoothly for a few feet. He looked surprised- almost shocked- for a moment, before his face lit up with a triumphant grin and Stiles beamed like a proud parent. “See?” he called. “I told you it wasn’t hard!”
Derek actually laughed, and Stiles felt like he deserved a frigging medal for this- for making Derek look so happy- right up until the moment Derek hit the wall.
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Derek sat back down on the bench outside the rink, skates turned in, rubbing his forehead where it had connected with the plexiglas. Stiles winced and followed, sitting down next to him and unlacing his skates. “You were doing great until that last part.” he offered. “Which was maybe my fault; stopping is a pretty important thing to teach.’
“You think?” Derek snorted, glaring at Stiles.
“Just maybe,” Stiles replied, giving him a small smile.
Derek just rolled his eyes.
“Practice does make perfect, though.” Stiles chirped and Derek snorted again.
“Um, no; I am never doing that again.”
“Aw, come on, Sourwolf!” Stiles whined. “One more time!”
Derek paused, thinking. “… Only if you don’t let go.”
“As long as you don’t try to strangle my arm.” Stiles shot back.
“Deal.”
Derek gets his skates again and doesn’t hit a wall.
Stiles never lets go.