
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3841006.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Allison_Argent/Scott_McCall, Vernon_Boyd/
      Erica_Reyes
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Allison_Argent, Scott_McCall, Vernon_Boyd,
      Erica_Reyes, Talia_Hale, Laura_Hale, Cora_Hale
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_High_School, Alive_Hale_Family
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-04-29 Words: 5236
****** Megadweeb and the Holy Nerd (in which there is a truly excessive amount
of eye-rolling) ******
by OLTRX
Summary
     He could hear Stiles’s light chuckle behind him, then more furious
     scribbling.
     What he got back was: "Neville is totally badass! He’s brave, he
     tells Voldemort to go fuck himself, he basically runs Dumbledore’s
     army after the main trio ditch, obviously there’s that part where he
     destroys the horocrux. (Plus, Matthew Lewis’s puberty transformation
     is the most magical thing about the whole movie series.)"
     Derek stared at the handwriting for a few moments. Stiles thought
     Derek is badass (maybe) and... had a nice puberty transformation
     (possibly implied)? Derek didn’t really know how to interpret that,
     but he guessed it must be a compliment. How was he supposed to
     respond to that?
     The note he returned said "I only read the books", and for his
     efforts he received a soft smack on the back of the head.
     “Fucking hipster,” Stiles whispered lowly in his ear, and when Derek
     chuckled Harris glared at him.
“Derek!” Talia screamed. Downstairs, she could hear the muffled shrieking of
what could’ve been a smoke alarm or possibly Cora. Talia sighed, took a moment
to prepare herself, and then pushed the door open.
She wasn’t about to actually step inside the place. Mounds of dark clothing
were piled high across the floor; the dresser drawers were pulled open and
filled to the brim with unfolded t-shirts and black skinny jeans. The desk by
the door was haphazardly stacked with textbooks. If she took just one step in
and went up on her toes, she could see Derek, face down in the dark blue
sheets, body sprawled out behind him, blanket wrapped tightly around one leg,
just as expected. She sighed again and lifted up the pair of pan lids she was
holding.
“DEREK!” she shouted again, and brought them together with a huge clang. Her
lump of a son groaned; one arm rolled off the edge and started grasping across
the ground for another pillow, which, as soon as he got his hand on, he pressed
over his head. “IT’S SEVEN THIRTY THREE, I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DON’T GET UP
RIGHT NOW I’LL SIC CORA ON YOU!”
The excited shrills of the younger child could be heard from below, in tandem
now with the other beeping, which meant that the smoke alarm was almost
definitely going off. Shit.
Derek’s head popped up, and he turned his dark, sleepy glare onto Talia.
“You wouldn’t,” he mumbled, only half intelligible through the thick sleep-
haze. Talia quirked an eyebrow, and did her best to put her hands on her hips. 
“Try me,” she said. Derek seemed to contemplate this for a second, then
grumbled something under his breath and swung his legs off the bed. She smiled,
and as the smell of burning eggs reached her nose, she sprinted out and
straight down the stairs. The sound of Derek’s shouted, “Close the door Mom!”
chased her down, followed a moment later by the sound of slamming. She rolled
her eyes.
***
Derek lifted the fork to his mouth and immediately was greeted by a taste
somewhat more bitter than he was expecting. He chewed a few more times
experimentally– definitely more bitter. A lot more bitter. He looked down to
see Talia sliding a second blackened omelet onto his plate.
“This is burnt,” Derek said.
“That’s your fault,” Talia said.
“How is that my fault?” Derek asked.
“It just is,” Talia said. Cora, sitting at the end of the table in her high
chair, simply cooed, and then shrieked again, all while kicking and delightedly
pounding her tiny fists on the table.
Derek looked back down at his eggs, and tried to subtly scrape the charred
black mess off his tongue with his teeth. He grabbed the jug of milk from the
end of the table and poured himself a tall glass, which he was chugging just as
Laura walked in.
“You know, I read somewhere that milk actually isn’t that good for you,” she
said. She was wearing her IN-N-OUT hat and a ponytail. Derek rolled his eyes,
and kept drinking until he was done. He wiped his mouth across the back of his
hand.
“Of course it is!” Talia protested. “Calcium keeps the bones strong. Plus, milk
is the first thing in life we know how to consume. Humans are born drinking
milk.”
“Yeah,” Laura said, swiping an apple off the counter and taking a bite, “human
milk.”
“Thinking of going vegan?” Derek asked. Laura rolled her eyes.
“Are you done?” Laura asked. She made a show of checking her watch. “We need to
be leaving soon.”
Derek glanced quickly at his plate and then stood. He kissed Talia on the cheek
on his way out, and gracefully bowed out of the way of the spoonful of oatmeal
Cora flung in his direction. It made a wet splat sound against the lavender
wall.
***
By the time Laura swerved and screeched into the parking lot, he was already
ten minutes late. He swung his backpack over his shoulder and dashed out; as
soon as the door was shut behind him he could hear the car zooming away back
down the road.
He walked quickly through the silent halls; the only sound was the distant
voice on the campus security guard’s walkie talkie. Finally, he arrived at his
classroom door, and grabbed the handle. It wouldn’t budge. He shifted and
pushed against it some; still nothing. He hunched over and pressed his face
against the small window– Dark, seats empty, backpacks left leaning against the
desks. He took a step back and scanned the length of the door again. They
hadn’t left a note.
In a sigh, he glanced through the open doorway at the end of the hall. A ring
of students was sitting on the field. He recognized the long, silver hair of
his teacher. He rolled his eyes, huffed, and started walking.
When he arrived, he dropped his bag next to a familiar figure, and assumed the
same meditative pose as the others; legs crossed, hands resting palms-up on
knees, back straight and eyes closed. If he moved a little bit, he could feel
the turf and tiny black rubber pellets digging into his thigh. He could hear
the wind rustling the leaves in the trees, and a PE class taking place the next
field over, with all the whistles and grunts that entailed. A few minutes
passed.
“Well,” their teacher said softly, and Derek opened his eyes. She was looking
across all their faces with a small, inwardly satisfied smile, gentle breeze
playing with her long grey bangs. “That was nice. Welcome, Derek. We’ve just
been meditating.”
One or two people turned to glance to him, but the others were filling the
space with the sounds of stretching, yawning, groaning, sighing, laughing,
talking. Stiles, who he was sitting next to, shone a bright grin at him.
“Can you go into lotus?” Stiles asked. He yanked at one of his legs and tried
to stack it on the other, before pantomiming grand pain and defeat. Derek
wrapped his hand around his own ankle, but as soon as he started tugging he
knew it wasn’t going to happen.
“Nah,” he said.
The teacher clapped, and waited patiently for about thirty seconds for the
attention of the class to return to her.
“Should we finish our class inside?” she asked.
“Let’s not,” Stiles said. “Can we just stay out here?”
“Yeah,” Ethan chimed in. Aiden nodded beside him. She gave them a pensive look,
then nodded.
“Alright,” she said. A whistle blew. Some ball was thrown. Running. Shouting
that felt muffled through the thin layer of fog. “We’re going to be holding
debates in two weeks. I have here a list of names...”
***
“Pst,” Stiles hissed behind him. In front of him, Harris droned on and scrawled
in blue across the white board. Something hit the back of his head, and then
again. He reached back, and felt a small ball of crumpled paper drop into his
hand.
He unfolded it under the desk, and tried to read it as discreetly as possible. 
Do you think he goes home and practices his Snape voice to use in class the
next day? next to a crudely drawn picture of the aforementioned magical
teacher. Derek reached for his pencil, and wrote with the paper smoothed across
his thigh: I have no idea, but I know for a fact thatyou go home and pretend to
be Ron in front of the mirror each night.
After a moment of reading the note, Stiles began scribbling furiously, and
handed it back.
Excuse you, is that supposed to be an insult? Everyone knows Ron is great. Us
lovable sidekicks have to stick together.
Derek wrote: Sidekick to who?
Stiles took a few minutes to write out his answer. Harris was really on a roll;
he kept talking and talking and talking. Derek had no idea what he’d said in
the past half an hour. He was only halfheartedly trying to keep up with what
he’d written on the whiteboard. He took a few moments to fill in the gaps in
his notes, and then felt the edge of the folded paper jabbing him sharply at
the nape of his neck and snatched it back. Scott, duh. Scott’s Harry Potter–
pure conviction and morality, innocent puppy-dog eyes, the admiration of many
adults. Lydia is Hermione; badass, perfect, smart. Viktor Krum
(Jackson)wisheshe was good enough for her. Allison is Ginny, because she’s
badass, and like a sister to me, and also she’s dating Scott.
Derek smirked, and checked to make sure Harris wasn’t watching before scrawling
his reply. You’ve obviously thought this through thoroughly. Who does that make
me?
Stiles only took two seconds to write his response.
Neville Longbottom.
Derek raised his eyebrows, and wrote three big question marks and one ! across
the page.
He could hear Stiles’s light chuckle behind him, then more furious scribbling.
What he got back was: Neville is totally badass! He’s brave, he tells Voldemort
to go fuck himself, he basically runs Dumbledore’s army after the main trio
ditch, obviously there’s that part where he destroys the horocrux. (Plus,
Matthew Lewis’s puberty transformation is the most magical thing about the
whole movie series.)
Derek stared at the handwriting for a few moments. Stiles thought Derek is
badass (maybe) and... had a nice puberty transformation (possibly implied)?
Derek didn’t really know how to interpret that, but he guessed it must be a
compliment. How was he supposed to respond to that?
The note he returned said I only read the books, and for his efforts he
received a soft smack on the back of the head.
“Fucking hipster,” Stiles whispered lowly in his ear, and when Derek chuckled
Harris glared at him.
***
“Hold it higher,” Stiles said, and elbowed him sharply in the ribs. The wind
was blowing more ferociously now; the fog had cleared, but it was still cold.
Derek held his sign higher. 
Next to him, Erica was grumbling.
“I can’t believe I let McCall rope me into this,” she said, but the corner of
her mouth was upturned just slightly. There were a few stray hairs stuck in her
lipgloss.
“Come on, Erica, it’s for Allison!” Stiles said with another goofy grin, just
as Isaac was saying, “It’s the puppy eyes. They’re a known killer.”
Lydia had her hair up in a milkmaid braid, so despite the wind, she still
looked perfect. Being Allison’s best fried, she was eagerly holding up her sign
at the front of the line. 
“Shit,” Stiles said. “I think she’s coming. Everyone in position!”
“My bad, thought we already were,” Jackson replied, but still straightened his
back and held his sign higher than everyone else’s. 
“Showoff,” Stiles mumbled under his breath. Derek chuckled.
Scott and Allison rounded the block of classrooms and approached the courtyard
where all of them were standing, Scott leading the blindfolded Allison by the
arm. She was giggling. One perfect curl fluttered away from her face. It was
inaudible, but Scott said something that looked a lot like ‘wait right here’,
and dashed forwards to grab the roses from the bench behind where Lydia was
standing. 
“Okay, you can take it off now!” Scott shouted.
“What?” Allison asked. She was too far away, and it was too windy.
“You can– take off the blindfold!” Scott shouted even louder. Almost collapsing
with laughter, she tugged the bow and the cloth came off. Her hands came up to
her mouth immediately, and she doubled over. Scott held up the bouquet and
shouted, at the top of his lungs this time, “Allison Argent, will you go to
prom with me?”
Before she could say yes, Erica lost her grip and the sign flew down the
hallway. Apparently, Derek and Stiles had accidentally switched places at some
time, too, but Allison ran and jumped up to put her legs around Scott’s waist
and give him one of the deeply inappropriate bedroom kisses they were known
for.
The picture Matt took for the school newspaper just moments after that showed
the bouquet on the ground by Scott and Allison’s feet, Allison smiling
gleefully towards the camera, pink cheeked with her legs wrapped around Scott’s
waist, and behind them, a line of students holding signs that read AL LI -- N 
P O R M?
***
“It’s kind of a deep, metallic green,” Malia said, passing her phone across the
table.
“It’s gorgeous,” Allison said with a considerate smile. Lydia gave a single
affirmative nod.
“I’m trying to decide between the pink satin,” she said, and was met with a
chorus of coos when she held out her phone, “and the black, and the purple.”
“Mine’s red,” Erica said. “Long skirt, sleek, slit up the side Jessica Rabbit
style.”
“Sexy,” Lydia said with a wolfish grin.
Derek turned to Stiles, who was playing flappy bird and humming something, then
to Jackson and Scott, who were having an intense conversation with Isaac about
lacrosse. Derek popped a chicken nugget into his mouth.
“Is it just me,” he said, “or do the fries seem starchier than usual today?”
Stiles looked up, and grabbed a fry off of Derek’s plate. It didn’t compress at
all when he squeezed it between his fingers. He popped it in his mouth.
“Flavorless and hard,” Stiles commented. He curled his fingers in the air and
looked off into the distance, obviously trying to summon more details like a
great french-fry connoisseur. “The bumps of the waves certainly seemed stiffer
than usual. If you payed attention, you might’ve seen that the tip was
blackened. Yes– yes, I think it is just a little bit starchier than yesterday.”
He smiled, and took another french fry from Derek’s plate before he could swat
his hand away.
“Hey Stiles,” Scott said. “You should get in on this limo share plan.”
“How much a person?” Stiles asked. Scott shrugged.
“I don’t know yet. Between fifty and a hundred? Depends on how many people are
planning on riding with us,” Scott said.
“Derek?” Stiles asked. Derek shrugged.
“Maybe,” he said. Scott turned back to Jackson and Isaac. “Are you planning on
asking anyone?”
“Lydia, per tradition,” Stiles said. “Other than that... I don’t think so.
You?”
“I uh,” Derek said. “I don’t know?”
***
“What time is it?” Derek asked. Laura used her foot to scoop up a pile of
clothing and dump in into her arms. She reached for a white shirt that was
bunched up at the foot of the bed. “That one’s not dirty.” 
Laura rolled her eyes and kicked it across the room. 
“I’m only doing this because Mom isn’t making me pay rent,” she said, then
hoisted the pile of laundry higher on her hip and headed for the door. “You’re
phone’s been going off for a while now, by the way.”
“Shut the– Laura, can you please shut the door behind you?” Derek asked,
exasperated.
“You can shut your own door, Derek, my hands are full!” she said. Derek
groaned, and pulled his phone off the charging cable on his way to the door.
Yawning, he clicked the button and it flashed on. 12:34 p.m., countless unread
message icons. He swiped right.
Stiles: I can’t believe you’ve never seen the movies
Stiles: Have you been in a coma for the past decade, or what?
Stiles: I feel like it’s my obligation to help you
Stiles: We need to marathon, like, right now
Stiles: Be aware that if at any time you say the words, “The book was better,”
you will be slapped; not because I disagree but because nobody should get away
with being that much of a hipster
Stiles: I’m coming to your house. I’m bringing popcorn and my box set. Prepare
yourself.
Derek checked the timestamp– sent twenty minutes ago. That was probably enough
time for Stiles to get in his car and drive over if he actually wanted to,
right? He felt the panic rising and his thumbs started moving rapidly across
the screen.
Derek: Do NOT come to my house, there are people here and they will eat you
Derek reached for a pair of pants, but found his hand brushing across the shag
carpeting instead. Damn it, Laura. He walked to the dresser, and pulled out a
pair of black skinny jeans. Almost by the time his pants were on enough to put
his phone in his pocket, he felt it buzz.
Stiles: Are they going to eat me alive, or are they going to cook me? Because
I’d like to recommend myself medium-rare with a nice hollandaise.
Derek: Nobody’s going to eat you, because you’re not coming over. 
He pulled on some t-shirt and walked downstairs. He went straight to the
fridge, which released a quick burst of cold air when he pulled the door open.
The florescent light buzzed. He scanned the shelves.
Leftover lasagna. Juice boxes. Deli meat. Milk. Some other uncooked meats.
Asparagus, kale, celery. He frowned. Nothing caught his eye. He pulled the
freezer open; there was some ice cream, and a package of dinosaur shaped
chicken nuggets, but not much else. His phone vibrated.
Stiles: :( :( :(
Before Derek could finish typing a reply, he got another message.
Stiles: Help me help you, Derek.
Derek sighed. It was Saturday, and he had nothing to do all day but make weird
faces at Cora and listen to Laura bitch at him.
Derek: Don’t you have an entire house to yourself?
He aggressively watched the little blinking dots. Typing. 
“Close the door, you’re wasting energy,” Talia said. Derek pushed it halfway
closed and let the magnets do the rest of the work. It shut with a satisfying
smack.
Stiles: That is a VERY good point. 
Stiles: So, Derek, are you ready to have your mind blown?
Derek rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“Who’s that?” Talia asked. She tossed a stray toy into Cora’s playpen, and Cora
squealed happily.
“Stiles,” Derek said. “He invited me over. Can I?”
“Is he coming to pick you up?” Talia asked. Derek looked down at the phone.
Derek: Can you come get me?
“Maybe,” Derek said. 
“Will you be back for dinner?” Talia asked. Derek shrugged. The toy came flying
back out, and hit him square in the back of the head. It started playing some
irritating jingle as it hit the ground, and Cora started laughing maniacally.
Talia sighed. “Alright. Let me know.”
Fifteen minutes later, Stiles’s jeep pulled up in their driveway and Derek
sprinted out. Before Stiles had the chance to open the car door, Derek had
already climbed in.
“In a rush?” Stiles said with a grin. “I wanted to say hi to Cora.”
“Where do you even know her from?” Derek asked and fastened his seatbelt. 
“Grocery store. Park. Chuck E Cheese,” Stiles said.
“Chuck E Cheese?” Derek asked. “Aren’t you a bit old for that?”
“Summer job,” Stiles said. 
“Why would she even be at Chuck E Cheese?” Derek asked. “She can’t even speak
yet.”
Stiles shrugged.
“It’s my job to serve pizza, not ask questions,” he said. He started pulling
out of the driveway. Soon, they were whirring down the road, redwoods flashing
by through the window. 
***
Stiles threw the door open with a dramatic flare.
“Mi casa,” he announced. “Cheetos?”
“Sure,” Derek said. He followed Stiles into the kitchen and watched him pull a
bag off the top of the fridge. 
“I think I have some microwave popcorn somewhere,” Stiles said. 
***
“That’s not how it happened in the book,” Derek said. Stiles smacked him on the
back of the head again. It had grown darker; a half empty pizza box lay open on
the coffee table, next to several popcorn bags and a Cheetos bag, decorated
with neon orange crumbs. 
“It can’t be the same,” Stiles said. “This is a movie, not a book. It’s more of
a general interpretation.”
“He was shouting,” Derek said. Stiles threw a piece of popcorn at him and it
landed behind his ear. Derek plucked it out of his hair and popped it directly
in his mouth; then, he sent a cheeto flying Stiles’s way. He ducked out of the
way, and suddenly he had half the popcorn bag upended on him, and food was
being flung both ways.
***
Derek saw Stiles a lot; sometimes because he was just there, and sometimes
because he was looking. In the locker room, out of the corner of his eye– the
slopes of his back, ass, thighs.
Stiles stood under the head of the shower until the steam stopped rising and
his thumbs had pruned. The whistle blew, and he was shoved and pushed into the
dirt, sliding face-first, ass-first, covering himself in mud. Derek didn’t fall
over so much. He took short showers, and he left the locker room as fast as he
could. 
***
Derek stood at the front of the class, hunched over the podium. His leather
jacket was strewn across the chair a few seats down. On his right, Matt and
Erica. On his left, the opposition: Isaac, Boyd, and Stiles.
“...rates of binge drinking amongst teens are severely decreased in countries
such as France, where it’s customary to begin drinking socially at a younger
age–”
Stiles sprung to his feet.
“Point of information–” he said, “The Australian drinking age is 18, but
they’re still known for their alcoholism.”
“Then that reflects their own personal culture of binge drinking, I’m saying–”
“Point of information– then France’s lack of binge drinking reflects their own
personal culture of not binge drinking,” Stiles said.
“A lot of European countries have similar practices, a majority of European
countries with similar practices alsohave lower binge drinking rates–”
“Point of information! Those are European cultures, and America has not been
part of England since 1783; our culture is distinctlydifferent from theirs and
always has been, especially concerning the consumption of hard liquors such as
whiskey, and therefore we are basically incomparable to them.”
“I’m going to keep going now,” Derek said, and took a breath. “Lowering the
drinking age and legally allowing teens to drink would also remove the aura of
mystique and illicitness around alcohol consumption, which may be one of the
key–”
“Point of information–”
“Point of order,” Shannon said from the back of the room. She glanced up from
her watch to give Stiles a stern look. “Let him finish his sentence.”
With a light blush and apologetic smile, Stiles plopped back down in his seat.
He stretched his leg out in front of him, flexing the foot, and folded his
hands behind his head.
Derek took another breath, and then traced his finger across the printed text
in front of him. The ink was smooth under his finger. He looked up, and started
speaking again.
A minute passed.
“Time,” Shannon said, and he collapsed into his chair as Matt moved to replace
him.
***
A hand, creeping up next to his in the dark of a crowded movie theater. How old
were they? What grade were they in? Twelve, thirteen, seventh, eighth? He
couldn’t quite remember. He remembered showering before, and combing his hair,
and pulling on his nike socks with a certain amount of nervous anticipation. He
and his posse met her and her four closest friends at the movie theater. The
teenager working the ticket book was chewing gum, and and barely glanced at any
one of them with that apathetic stare. He’d coordinated the event specifically
so he wouldn’t have to buy the ticket from Laura; he was sure she’d
intentionally ruin everything for him. As it was, he could fish change out of
the pocket of his basketball shorts in peace while the girl tittered with her
friends behind him.
They blushed and turned away from each other when there was a kiss scene. 
At Stiles’s house, he put his hand on the couch next to Stiles’s hand. He
rubbed his thumb in circles over the fuzzy fabric. He wondered wether they’d
have wound up in that movie theater together, inches away, blushing and looking
in opposite directions, if their social circles had aligned just a few years
earlier.
He was glad they hadn’t. 
***
“Still going stag?” Stiles asked. One of his hands was in his pocket, one was
scratching across a tree root.
“Maybe,” Derek said. “I guess.”
They were sitting under a tree on the field, looking through chain link fence
at the other field, where a few people were running and the whistle was blowing
and dirt was flying up beneath their heels. 
It was warmer. Derek wasn’t wearing his jacket, and Stiles wasn’t wearing his
hoodie.
“Okay,” Stiles said. “Cool. Did you see the Beacon Hills High Instagram post
with the photo from the newspaper–”
“You should go with me,” Derek said. “We should go together.”
“We are,” Stiles said, with a weird smile. Derek looked away, and ripped a few
pieces of grass out of the ground.
“No,” Derek said. Even though he wasn’t looking this time, he could see Stiles
expand, giant inhale inflating his body, eyebrows shooting up, back
straightening.
“Oh,” Stiles said. 
Finstock shouted something. A car parked.
“Yes,” Stiles said.
“Oh,” Derek said. He could feel the blush rising on his cheeks. 
“Porm,” Stiles said awkwardly. Derek chuckled, and put his hand between them.
Stiles took it.
***
Epilogue
They stumbled drunkenly into the first empty bedroom they could find. Stiles
was giggling as he shushed Derek and closed the door behind him. It took at
least seven tries to find the lock, and by that time he was full on laughing.
Despite himself, Derek felt a few snickers escaping.
Downstairs, the bass was still thumping. Scott and Allison were probably still
grinding, Lydia was still dancing and Jackson was still standing stoically
beside her. Erica and Boyd had, going by the noises, found the room next to
theirs.
Stiles switched the light on.
“Wow,” he laughed. “Oh wow.”
The walls were dark purple, there were butterfly stickers above the bed, and
the closet was giant, organized, filled with every color and fabric combination
imaginable. 
“This is Lydia’s room,” Derek said, and Stiles snorted before collapsing into
another fit of giggles. Derek tried his best to quell his own laughter, and
walked over to pull Stiles to his chest.
“She’ll kill us,” Stiles said. Derek kissed him on the cheek, then the ear,
then the neck, and the neck again as Stiles giggled and squirmed. “Oh my god
Derek, stop, stop–”
Derek stopped and pulled back. Stiles had a goofy grin on his face. 
“Okay, you can keep going,” Stiles said.
This time, Derek moved in to mouth across Stiles’s jaw and scrape his teeth
very gently across his neck. Stiles stopped laughing and let out a soft shivery
noise.
“That feels nice,” Stiles sighed, and Derek moved down to his collar. He slowly
pulled open the first button, then the second, and pressed his lips against
Stiles’s skin. Stiles shuddered, and Derek got to work on undressing him. Soon,
his shirt was all the way open, and he gently scraped a fingernail across
Stiles’s nipple.
Stiles bucked up against Derek. He shrugged off his shirt and jacket in one
move. 
“You need to be shirtless,” Stiles said. “You need to... remove your shirt.”
Derek worked his fingers over his own buttons quickly; soon Stiles’s wish had
been fulfilled.
“Wow,” Stiles said. “Nice. Neville indeed.”
Derek snickered. 
“Do you want to go... sit on the bed, perhaps?” Stiles suggested with an eye
waggle. He led Derek by the hand to the edge. As soon as Derek was seated, he
placed himself in his lap.
“Enjoying yourself?” Derek asked. Stiles leaned in and kissed him deeply. When
he pulled away, Derek was breathless and rock hard.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Stiles asked, and ground down. Derek hissed. His
hands instinctively flew to Stiles’s hips. Stiles smirked, and pushed down
again. Derek groaned, and his head fell forward onto Stiles’s shoulder. 
Derek slipped the tips of his fingers under the front of Stiles’s pants, then
pushed his hand down to cup his dick through his underwear. This time it was
Stiles’s turn to groan. He rubbed up against Derek’s palm. 
“Jesus,” Derek said. Stiles laughed, then moaned. 
“I’m embarrassingly close,” Stiles said.
“So am I,” Derek said. Stiles kept grinding down on his dick, swaying back and
forth, until Derek’s grip tightened.
Stiles captured his mouth in a kiss, rocking forwards into Derek’s hand. He
came with a wet little gasp, and Derek could feel the moisture where the come
had landed in his underwear. He reached down and cupped Derek’s crotch, through
two layers of pans, and that was it. He exhaled, thrusting up against Stiles’s
thigh, and came.
After, Stiles rolled off of him onto Lydia’s bed.
“Wow,” he laughed. “Well, that was fast.”
“Your fault,” Derek said, kissing the back of his neck. “First time.”
“With a guy, or at all?” Stiles asked, looking over his shoulder. Derek
shrugged.
“At all,” Derek said. Stiles blushed.
“Same,” he said.
Then there came the sound of stumbling and kissing outside their door.
“Did you lock it?” Derek hissed. Stiles grimaced.
“I think?” 
The door popped open a few inches. Through the crack a sliver of pale pink
satin shone.
“Shit,” Derek said. Stiles grabbed his hand and made a vague motion towards the
other side of the room. Derek raised his eyebrows, and Stiles tugged him in
that direction. “The closet?” 
Stiles shrugged, and then nodded. Derek rolled his eyes, but followed him in.
By the time Lydia and Jackson made it in, Derek and Stiles were three feet deep
in fluffy sundresses, squished up against a rack of shoes.
Derek must’ve made some sort of weird face, because then Stiles started
giggling again, and Derek had to lift a finger to his lips to try to shush him
again, but that only made Stiles lose it more. He pressed both hands over his
mouth, but he looked like he was about to burst. Derek made the vague motion of
implied strangling, which was really just counterproductive. Stiles rolled onto
his back.
The closet door slid open.
“What are you doing here,” Lydia said. It wasn’t a question. 
Stiles collapsed, covering his face with his hands. The song changed
downstairs. Jackson was already shirtless, and giving them both very
unimpressed looks. 
“Derek?” he asked. Derek blushed and looked away.
“We were just leaving,” Derek said. It took a lot of strength to haul Stiles to
his feet and drag him out of the room.
“Bye Lydia!” Stiles said, blowing her a kiss. She rolled her eyes and shut the
door behind them, followed by the resounding click of a lock. 
“Alright, I think it’s time to take you home,” Derek said.
“I can drive,” Stiles said.
“You cannot drive,” Derek said. Stiles frowned.
“Fine. You can’t drive either.”
“Good point,” Derek said. “So, crash here?”
They stumbled through the living room, through the kitchen, to the little door
with squeaky hinges, into Lydia’s basement. They collapsed together on the
couch in front of the television.
Stiles fell asleep drooling on Derek’s shoulder, curled up against his chest,
surrounded by the smell of stale cigars and the sound of Nicky Minaj. Derek
fell asleep to the sound of Stiles breathing.
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