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Derek wakes up, not for the first time, to a cat standing on his chest and staring down at him. He knows better than to think Caligula is there to cuddle, but rather just wants Derek to vacate the bed so he can have it to himself. Caligula is a pretty shitty cat. He sighs and (slowly) lifts the black cat off his chest and onto the bed beside him so he can roll off without getting claws in his chest (that lesson has been learned the hard way).
Finding an apartment on Craigslist had seemed so reasonable however many months ago. He’d seen the posting for a roommate at a well located apartment and thought, gee, what’s the worst that could happen? Well, turns out the worst that could happen is living with an evil cat whose owner Derek has somehow fallen into a friends with benefits arrangement with. Which wouldn’t really be a problem if he wasn’t also kind of in love with Stiles.
Resigned to an early start on his morning, he wanders to the kitchen where he wishes he were more surprised to see Stiles curled up with a thin blanket and lumpy couch pillow on the table. He rolls his eyes, tries not to find his gentle snoring and open mouth cute, and puts the coffee on before fixing himself a bowl of cereal and leaning against the counter to eat it.
“Oh, hey dude,” Stiles’ best friend, Scott, greets as Derek watches him emerge from Stiles’ bedroom.
“Rough night?” Derek asks flatly, gesturing toward his snoring roommate.
Scott grins. “Nah man. It was great.”
“It was great and yet Stiles is passed out on the kitchen table?”
“Well he let me and Allison have the bed,” Scott explains with a shrug, helping himself to some of Stiles’ Pop-Tarts that he procured from a cupboard. “And Danny took the couch. He must’ve left already. Dude works, like, way early in the morning.”
It’s actually a better explanation than what Derek was expecting.
After shoveling the sorry and overly processed excuses of breakfast pastries down, Scott pokes Stiles in the shoulder until he finally grunts and reluctantly opens his eyes a little but doesn’t sit up.
“My head hurts,” he whines, squeezing his eyes shut mutinously.
“Dude,” Scott begins, “that’s because you drank a seriously impressive amount of rum last night.”
”Do not say the r-word,” Stiles groans. “Just leave me here to die on the kitchen table. Derek will call 911 when I stop breathing. Right, Derek?”
“No,” Derek replies, rinsing his bowl off in the sink.
“I would, bro,” Scott says. “But I’m pretty sure you have a shift that starts in like half an hour.”
Stiles makes a face like he might legitimately cry so Derek pours him a cup of coffee and hands it over to him. Coffee always seems to help Stiles regain human-like functions such as sitting and sometimes even standing. Luckily, Stiles’ job as a grocery store cashier doesn’t require much in the way of fine motor function.
Derek’s somewhat surprised when Stiles actually manages to make it out of the apartment twenty minutes later, being led by a supportive Scott and a still drunk Allison who desperately needs to get back to bed if her stumbling is any indicator.
Some people just have no common sense, he thinks before plopping down onto the couch and turning on the TV.
*
Stiles comes home right after his shift and flops down on the couch, half on top of Derek who had retreated back to the couch after a lengthy run through the park.
“That was the worst day of my life,” Stiles laments, burying his face in Derek’s thigh. He tries desperately to not let certain parts of him react to Stiles’ actions.
“You say that after every shift you work,” he points out, keeping his eyes trained on the TV.
“Only the shifts when I’m hungover,” Stiles argues half-heartedly.
“That is every shift.”
Stiles makes a noise like he’s going to argue but evidently decides against it, settling into the couch so he’s facing the TV, his head still propped up on Derek’s leg.
“By the way,” Derek begins, “your dumb pet cat woke me up again this morning.”
“First of all, Derek,” Stiles starts, sounding a bit more roused now that he’s evidently got something worth arguing about, “Caligula is not a pet; he just lives here. And if you don’t want him coming into your room, then close your door.”
“I did close my door,” Derek complains and gives Stiles a look.
“Okay, fine. I opened it last night,” Stiles admits. “But only because I was going to come in and suck your dick before I realized you were asleep and I was way too drunk.”
Derek almost chokes on nothing, trying to cover it up with a cough.
“You could’ve come in and slept at least,” he says when he’s regained control of himself. “You shouldn’t sleep on the kitchen table.”
“I didn’t want to wake you up,” Stiles replies, voice strangely soft.
That night, Derek has to stop himself from moaning I love you when Stiles pushes into him.
*
The next day, Derek gets back from his job (he’s a tax accountant – super exciting stuff) to find Stiles sitting at the kitchen table glaring at a piece of paper in his hand.
“What’s up?” Derek asks, a bit concerned at the fire in Stiles’ eyes. Stiles doesn’t get mad too often.
Stiles sighs and slumps in his chair, defeated. “I picked up my paycheck today,” he starts, waving the paper in the air. “They’ve been cutting my hours and therefore this paycheck is a little…. light. Hey, totally unrelated question but would you care if we shut the power off for like a couple weeks or something maybe?”
Derek gives Stiles a look and sits down in the chair next to him. “Are you gonna have trouble making the rent and utilities this month? Because I can pay all the rent this month and you can pay me back a little bit every month or something.”
“No, no, no,” Stiles chants. “I do not accept monetary gifts. I’ll figure it out. I just need to… budget or something. Which would be one of those life skills I did not learn as an English major, but I can totally figure it out.”
“I can help you,” Derek offers. He wishes Stiles would accept a loan, but he won’t deny that the kid definitely needs to learn some money management as well.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Derek affirms. “Here,” he says, getting up to grab the notepad they write their grocery lists on and the Disney princess pen Stiles always insists on using. “Write down a list of your necessary expenses and expenses you could maybe do without and we’ll go from there.”
“Okay,” he agrees cheerily, his mood seemingly much improved. Derek sets to work on preparing dinner (for both of them, because he’s pretty sure that despite working in grocery store, Stiles hasn’t actually bought food in weeks) while Stiles works on his list. He’s got chicken in the oven and a pot of water being heated on the stove for pasta when Stiles hands the list over.
Derek’s eyes scan the list and he sees that Stiles definitely put some thought into it (somewhat surprisingly). He’s put things like rent, utilities, groceries, and laundry in the necessary column and things like takeout and ‘bar hopping cash’ in the do without column. That being said, there are definitely some problems. Problems that directly interfere with common sense, which Stiles clearly does not have.
“You have Netflix down as a necessary expense,” he points out incredulously. “And alcohol.”
“Those are very necessary!” Stiles argues.
“No, they’re not.”
“They totally are. I mean, dude. We need Netflix. That’s not a debate. And I’m gonna cut out buying drinks at bars which means I need money to buy it at the store. It’s totally economical. And financially responsible. And stuff.”
“Nothing about what you just said was ‘financially responsible’,” Derek mocks, turning his attention briefly to the stove to pour the pasta in. “Look, if you want to be serious about this, then cuts need to be made.”
“I did make cuts,” he whines.
“Not enough,” Derek retorts. “But I suppose we could compromise on some points. You can keep Netflix if we get rid of cable.”
“Get rid of cable? Derek, let’s not be drastic.”
Derek shrugs. “Why not? Netflix is cheaper and we can watch it on the TV, so we don’t really need cable.”
“But things come out on cable first!” Stiles sputters incredulously.
They argue about the cable and other things on the list throughout dinner. By the time they’ve finished eating, Derek can feel the frustration in his bones and can tell from the flush on Stiles’ cheeks that the anger is getting to him, too.
Derek really wants to get his mouth on him.
“I’ll suck your brains out through your dick if you agree with me.”
There’s a brief pause and then Stiles says, “Deal,” before attacking Derek’s mouth with his own. Their lips crash together and within seconds Stiles is licking into his mouth; tongues clashing while their hands wander.
“You are so fucking hot,” Stiles moans, moving down to Derek’s neck, sucking a mark into the flesh above his collar bone.
Derek groans and shoves his hands done the back of Stiles’ jeans, squeezing the globes of his ass and rubbing his erection against Stiles’. Intending to make very good on his promise, he drops to his knees right there in the kitchen and mouths at Stiles’ dick before hastily undoing his jeans and yanking them down his thighs. His mouth waters when he sees Stiles isn’t wearing any underwear.
Admittedly, it’s probably because he hasn’t done laundry in ages. Doesn’t make it any less hot – at least if his own throbbing dick in his jeans is any indication.
Stiles’ cock is thick and flushed red and Derek sucks him down to the root, bobbing up and down while Stiles lets out a stream of curses, grabbing onto the table behind him for balance.
Derek pulls off of his dick with an obscene pop, only to start mouthing at his balls, reveling in Stiles’ moans before licking a stripe up the underside of his dick and sinking onto it once again, the taste of precum lingering on his tongue. He studiously ignores his gag reflex as he sucks Stiles down, the tip of his cock hitting Derek’s throat.
“Fuck!” Stiles screams when Derek swallows around him.
He knows Stiles is close to coming when he looks up through his lashes to see him staring back, pupils blown wide and mouth slack as breathy moans escape him. He hollows his cheeks out, grabbing onto Stiles’ ass for leverage and fucking his mouth on Stiles’ cock. He can feel Stiles’ thighs shaking and if his mouth weren’t otherwise occupied, he’d be smirking at the effect he’s having on Stiles.
“I’m so close,” he gasps out. “Gonna come,” he warns but Derek just keeps on sucking.
Stiles yells his name and comes a moment later, back arching and dick hitting the back of Derek’s throat, but he just swallows down every drop of Stiles’ come, grinning smugly when he finally releases him from his mouth. Stiles sinks down to the ground next to him, leaning against the wall for support and panting heavily.
“You win – you win all the awards.”
“The dick sucking awards?” Derek teases.
“Yes,” Stiles replies as succinctly as he can. “And I’m totally gonna get you off but you gotta give me a minute because I think I’m a little bit dead right now.”
Stiles does get him off with his hand a few minutes later, still breathless from his own orgasm. When they collapse into Derek’s bed afterwards and Stiles still has a glazed look in his eyes, Derek worries for a second that he really did come his brains out.
*
“What’s that?” Derek asks one night as they’re sitting on the couch watching 30 Rock on Netflix (they’d officially cancelled their cable), pointing to some writing he couldn’t quite make out on the hand Stiles is petting Caligula with.
“Huh?” Stiles startles, taking his eyes off of Liz and Jack arguing on the screen and looks to where Derek’s pointing. “Oh. It’s, um, some guy’s number. He asked me out while I was checking him out today – I mean his groceries, not like, him.”
“You’re going on a date?” Derek asks, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as desperate and hopeless as he feels.
Stiles blinks at him. “I… wasn’t planning to?”
“Why not? I mean, there’s nothing stopping you, right?” Derek plows on, cursing himself for being such a dumbass. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting – for Stiles to declare his undying love for him maybe? But he knows better. They’re just roommates who fuck on a regular basis. Stiles doesn’t owe him anything. It’s not his fault Derek can’t keep his feelings in check.
He ignores the unfathomable look on Stiles’ face as he replies, “I guess not. I’ll call him later.”
They sit in a tense silence for another episode before Derek gets up and goes into his bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind him.
*
“Okay, Derek,” Laura says, setting two beers on the table and plopping into the seat across from Derek. They’re at a bar – a somewhat nice kind of place that Derek usually tries to avoid because they’re always full of hipster-like young people trying to outwit each other with their knowledge of microbrews. “Tell me your troubles.”
“His name is Topher,” he blurts out. “Not Christopher, not Chris. Topher. Stiles is out with a guy named Topher.”
“Well, Stiles’ name is Stiles so maybe let’s not judge his date’s name too harshly, hmm?” Laura says, frustratingly diplomatic.
Derek glares at her and takes a long pull from his bottle of beer – definitely some sort of quirky microbrew he would never buy on his own. He considers it a splurge when he buys Blue Moon or Leinenkugels instead of Coors Light.
“Have you even tried to tell him how you feel?” she asks him later, five beers and an infinite amount of bitching into the night.
“You have no idea how many blow jobs I’ve given him, Laura. If that’s not a declaration of love I don’t know what is.”
“First of all,” she begins, “that’s disgusting. I don’t want to know about that. God, I forgot how uninhibited you get when you drink. Second of all, no, that is not a declaration of love. Just, tell him how you feel. Maybe he feels the same way, maybe he doesn’t. But you need to know or you’ll drive yourself insane.”
“What if he doesn’t feel the same way?” he asks, staring down into his bottle.
“Then it’ll suck for a while. You’d probably have to find a new apartment because I can’t even imagine how awkward it would be. And it would hurt. But at least you could start recovering now because no matter how this goes, Derek, you’re either going to get with the kid or you’re going to get your heart broken. There is no third option. Things can’t stay the way they are forever.”
He decides he’s done with emotional conversations and orders shots of tequila for him and Laura – who doesn’t want it because she’s only drank one beer and wants to drive home, so he ends up doing them both. And a few more after that. By the time Laura manages to corral him into her car, he’s what Laura calls ‘fucked up’ and ‘going to have a horrible hangover in the morning’. She walks him up to his apartment and Stiles opens the door when he hears Laura asking Derek where his keys are.
“I can take him from here,” Stiles chuckles and slings an arm around Derek’s waist to help guide him when Laura calls ‘goodbye’ before leaving, door snapping shut behind her.
“You’re home,” Derek mumbles when Stiles eventually manages to get him into bed.
“That I am,” Stiles agrees, reaching down to undo Derek’s jeans and pull them off. Derek would probably be hard if he weren’t too drunk and too sleepy.
“Where’s your date?” he mutters through a yawn.
“No idea,” Stiles answers, yanking the blanket out from under Derek so he can lay it over him. “Don’t care.”
Derek smiles. “Stay?” he asks, grabbing for Stiles’ hand and pulling him into the bed next to him so he can wrap an arm around his waist and tuck his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck.
“Sure,” Stiles replies. “Now go to sleep.”
*
Derek wakes up very unpleasantly and for once, the reason is not Caligula glaring at him and scratching him (although the cat is curled up at the foot of the bed, not being a menace for once). Instead, the unpleasant feeling is due to a very uncomfortable roiling in his stomach that has him running to the bathroom to empty his stomach into the toilet. He doesn’t notice that Stiles has come into the bathroom until he feels his hand rubbing soothing circles into his back.
“You okay?” he murmurs softly once Derek seems to be done puking his guts out.
He nods shakily. “I’m gonna shower,” he says, voice raspy.
“Okay,” Stiles agrees and pats his cheek lightly before leaving Derek alone in the bathroom.
When Derek is finally done showering and has managed to dress himself in a pair of sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt, he heads to the living room/kitchen area where he sees Stiles cooking breakfast. His stomach clenches a little in protest, but he knows he should eat something.
“Hey,” Stiles greets. “I made some burnt toast. Should help settle your stomach a bit and if you can keep that down we’ll get some bacon and eggs into you.”
“Thanks,” Derek replies, taking a seat on one of their kitchen barstools and nibbling on one of the pieces of toast in front of him.
Burnt toast is pretty gross, he thinks, but after managing to choke down two pieces of it, he does feel a bit better and is rewarded greatly with a plate of crispy bacon and fried eggs. Stiles takes a seat next to him with his own plate and they eat quietly.
“I need to ask you something,” Stiles says, voice cutting through the silence after they finish eating. He sounds oddly hesitant; not like he normally is at all.
“Okay,” Derek complies, pushing his plate away and staring down at the counter, uncertainly creeping into his veins.
“Last night,” Stiles begins and pauses, sighing and taking a deep breath before continuing. “Before we fell asleep. Do you remember saying anything?”
Derek shakes his head and feels his heart rate climb, beating wildly in his chest.
“You said that you love me,” Stiles explains quietly. “Did you – did you mean it?”
“Stiles—“ Derek begins but is cut off quickly.
“I need to know,” Stiles demands firmly.
Derek nods, accepting. It as hard as he thought it would be – confessing his feelings. But he knows it’s not or never. Stiles has presented him with the perfect opportunity and if he doesn’t take it, he’ll regret it forever.
“Yes,” he declares. “I meant it. I don’t remember saying it, but… I love you.”
He doesn’t know what he’s expecting but he knows he’s shocked beyond all reason when Stiles grabs his face and plants his lips on Derek’s, kissing him with everything he has. Derek kisses back, licking at the seam of Stiles’ lips before he opens up for him, the kiss deepening. They kiss for what could be seconds or hours until the kiss slows and eventually they pull apart, foreheads resting together and breathing heavily.
“I love you, too.”
“Thank God,” Derek replies and dives back in, the kiss sloppy and uncoordinated because of their smiles.
Craigslist was probably Derek’s best idea ever.