Chapter Text
Dressed in a grey tank top and jeans, Derek stands by the window in his loft, lost in his own head. Stiles is talking next to him, but Derek doesn’t hear a single word he says. They’re alone right now, clutching at straws to come up with a way to defeat the latest adversary to show up in Beacon Hills: a pack made up entirely of alpha werewolves.
How are they supposed to overcome that? Just the idea of it… Peter and Gerard feel like walks in the park in comparison. No one knows the Alpha Pack’s motive for coming to Beacon Hills, but who’s to say they even need one? Perhaps all they want is to sow chaos and despair before they rip the Hale Pack—such as it is—limb from limb.
“Are you even listening to me?”
Breaking from his thoughts, Derek turns his head to look at Stiles. “No,” he admits. “Sorry. I got distracted.”
Stiles shakes his head with a smile that Derek might call fond. “It’s okay. It’s not like we’ve been getting anywhere today anyway.”
“I just can’t figure out anything we can do aside from bracing for the worst.”
“And that isn’t a good feeling. I know.”
With a sigh, Derek walks away from the window and sits down on the sofa in the middle of the loft. Stiles joins him, installing himself at the opposite end. It’s too far away.
“We’ll come up with a way out of this,” Stiles assures him. “We always do.”
“I appreciate your enthusiasm,” Derek says. He wishes he possessed Stiles’ confidence in their survival abilities. He should—he’s the alpha, so part of his job is supposed to be to maintain a high level of morale, but that’s just one more facet of being an alpha at which he fails spectacularly. He’ll add it to the list, along with mistreating his betas, and not listening to them when they complained or had ideas of their own to deal with Gerard and the Kanima.
Fuck, being an alpha is harder than he thought it would be. He doesn’t know what his past self was thinking when he ripped out Peter’s throat. He’s not cut out for it at all.
“I know where your mind’s at right now. Knock it off,” Stiles admonishes. He slides closer and puts a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “You’re doing the best you can.”
“Yeah.” Derek chuckles, but there’s no humour in it. “That’s exactly the problem. It’s not good enough.”
Jesus, why can’t he keep his mouth shut? If someone else were present, he would be able to, but since it’s just him and Stiles…
Ever since Gerard was dealt with and Derek moved out of the train station and into the loft, Stiles has been showing up more and more. Derek is about ninety-five percent sure Stiles has developed feelings for him. Looking like he does, Derek is used to people having crushes on him, so, as ill-advised as it may be, it shouldn’t be an issue. But it is an issue, because Derek is very quickly feeling things for Stiles in return. Dangerous things.
He isn’t good with emotions at the best of times, and his two previous forays into romance taught him that no good can come from it. Not that he believes Stiles would hurt him like Kate did, but he was burned—he winces at his own poor choice of words—and still hasn’t really recovered. Throw a serious threat to all of their lives into the mix, and Derek can’t handle any of it.
Still, as much as he should—and as sure as he is that it would be better for everyone—he’s found himself unable to walk away from Stiles. The boy in question currently wears a deep frown, and his enchanting, whiskey-coloured eyes are troubled. Derek can practically hear the cogs turning in his head, and it doesn’t bode well for him.
“Alright, come on. Up,” Stiles enjoins after a few moments, standing again.
Even as Derek asks why, he complies.
“Because you need a hug.”
Before Derek can object, Stiles has his arms around him. Derek stands rigidly for a few moments, in shock, until he feels Stiles’ soft breaths on the side of his neck. They send shivers down his spine and are what entices him into reciprocating the hug. He lifts his arms and hesitantly wraps them around Stiles’ svelte body. Never would he admit it, but Stiles was right. He did need this, and he really likes it. Having Stiles in his arms feels good, but more strikingly, him being in Stiles’ arms fills him with a sense of rightness he hasn’t experienced before.
He feels at home here, safe and like he isn’t being judged, and that’s just further proof that his heart is running away from him at an alarming pace.
“You’re a good alpha,” Stiles whispers to him, squeezing him tight.
Derek opens his mouth to refute that statement, but he doesn’t get the chance because Stiles keeps talking:
“Yes, you’ve made some mistakes in the past,” he says, rubbing a hand up and down Derek’s back, “but we all have. And you’re working to do better now, right?”
Derek nods stiffly.
“Then that’s all that matters.”
His eyes stinging, Derek scrunches them shut and buries his nose in Stiles’ shoulder, breathing in the cinnamon scent of him. It goes a long way to making him feel better, and he isn’t even embarrassed to let Stiles witness him being so weak.
Almost a full minute passes before Derek works up the nerve to extricate himself. Stiles gives him that fond smile again before heading in the direction of the kitchen.
He pauses in the doorway. “You want a drink of anything?”
“No, I’m good,” Derek replies. He means more than just saying no to a beverage.
Once Stiles has gone, Derek releases a long breath and surveys the main space of the loft. What should he do with himself now? The hug made being alone with Stiles seem much more intimate than it ever has before, and if he’s not careful, he might end up saying more than he wants to. He wishes that someone else would show up and eliminate the possibility. He’d even take Peter at this point, and he’s barely been able to stomach being around his uncle since Peter was revived and the stench of death started to follow him around wherever he goes.
Like they were waiting for him to make such a wish, Derek hears five heartbeats outside, their cadences unfamiliar. They get louder, then the freight elevator in his building ascends.
“That can’t be good…” he murmurs.
Stiles pokes his head out of the kitchen. “What can’t be good?”
“Stay in there!” Derek barks.
“But—”
“Just do it! And don’t come out for anything.”
Stiles’ eyes widen as he picks up on how serious the situation is. He actually listens for once, leaving Derek to face the threat by himself.
The time it takes for the freight elevator to reach his floor is torturous. Derek positions himself in front of the coffee table with his arms crossed over his chest, projecting strength to show that he won’t be intimidated by the Alpha Pack turning up unannounced at his home.
When the heartbeats are right on the other side of his door, the anxiety Derek is hiding rises. Since he can hear them, they’ll be able to hear him—and Stiles too. It’s this realisation that almost breaks his stolid mask, but he recalls what Stiles told him just a few minutes before. He still doesn’t see himself as a capable alpha—or even a passable one—but Stiles does, and Stiles’ belief in him means more than his own ever could. It increases his mettle. He just hopes it’ll be enough to get both himself and Stiles out of this with their lives, because it’s obvious to him that whatever the Alpha Pack is here for isn’t good.
Ten tense seconds later, the door slides open and the Alpha Pack pour inside.
First come twin teenage boys who look far too baby-faced to be tied up in all of this, but Derek knows that appearances can be deceiving.
Next comes a man with buzzed-short hair and enough muscles to make Derek feel inferior.
And, last but not least, a man with sunglasses covering his eyes is escorted inside by a woman with long dark hair and bare feet. From the way the others defer to him, he must be in charge. Derek is at first stunned by the revelation that the leader of the Alpha Pack is blind, but once he senses the power that emanates from him, suffusing through the loft like a dark cloud, he understands.
“Derek Hale,” the blind alpha greets. His tone is amiable, but he reeks of ill intent. “How nice to finally meet face-to-face. My name is Deucalion, but you can call me Duke.”
“What do you want?” Derek demands, cutting straight to the chase.
“Not even a hello?”
“No.”
“How disappointing. I was hoping that—”
Derek arches an eyebrow when Deucalion abruptly cuts himself off and turns his head slightly to the right, in the direction of the kitchen.
Looking that way himself, Derek’s heart pounds when he sees that Stiles has disobeyed him. He’s right out in the open, but strangely doesn’t look scared. Either Stiles is much better at acting than Derek gave him credit for, or he isn’t scared at all. In fact, the Stiles in front of Derek now is nothing like the one he knows. There’s no twitchiness in his body and no openness in his countenance. Everything that Derek would’ve said made Stiles Stiles is gone, and replacing it is cool severity, a sternness that has Derek’s cock taking an interest in his jeans.
What the hell?
“Duke, huh?” Stiles says, his gaze hard and unflinching.
If someone asked him, Derek would say that Deucalion actually looks flustered.
“I— I…” said alpha stammers, drawing the eyes of his lackeys. As if feeling them, he pulls himself up to his full height and speaks again: “We’ll be leaving now.”
“Good,” Stiles says shortly.
“What? Why?!” the female alpha questions. As pleased as he is, Derek would like to know why too.
“I said we’re leaving!” Deucalion shouts at her.
The female alpha snaps her mouth shut and guides Deucalion back toward the entrance. The other three alphas follow, the twins looking curiously at Stiles before they’re gone.
Derek remains gobsmacked and motionless until the sound of their heartbeats has faded. “What just happened?” he wonders aloud.
“No idea,” Stiles says, even as his heartbeat falters in his chest. His demeanour returns to what Derek is used to. “But I think I’m gonna go too.”
Before Derek can ask why or for him to stay, Stiles is out the door like he can’t get out of there fast enough. He doesn’t even wait for the freight elevator to come back up after the Alpha Pack took it down, taking the stairs instead. It’s like he has something to hide, and honestly, after the hug they shared just a few minutes ago, it feels like a slap in the face to Derek. But the sting of that is nothing compared to the bafflement he feels because of Deucalion’s reaction to Stiles.
Why did Deucalion change his tune as soon as Stiles emerged from the kitchen?
What would he have to fear from a human boy, especially one with no wolfsbane, mistletoe or mountain ash on his person?
It makes no sense, and from the expressions on the rest of the Alpha Pack’s faces, they didn’t get why Stiles’ appearance had Deucalion forcing them to make a speedy egress either.
Derek’s instincts are screaming at him that there’s some correlation between Stiles’ and Deucalion’s exits, but he can’t for the life of him figure out what it is. What he can figure out is that the only way he’s going to get clarity is to talk to Stiles.
* * *
Stiles goes straight back to his house after leaving the loft. His dad isn’t home and won’t be until much later, so he feels comfortable scrolling to the contact in his phone that’s simply named ‘Duke’. He sends a text informing him to use the front door when he arrives, because there’s no doubt in Stiles’ mind that Deucalion will show up soon. When that happens, he’s going to have a thing or two to say to him about whatever he was planning to do to his friends.
Just as Stiles is getting impatient, he hears a knock on the door. He gets up to answer it and finds Deucalion on the doorstep. He’s alone, and the red glow behind his sunglasses indicates that he can see at the moment.
“Inside!” Stiles snaps, sinking into the role he created for himself.
Deucalion scurries past him, totally different from the persona he presented back at the loft. He’s almost meek.
Once the front door is shut again, Stiles turns to Deucalion and commands him to kneel, his voice sharp like a whip. He’s satisfied when Deucalion immediately sinks to the floor, his head bowed and his hands clasped behind his ramrod-straight back. His posture is impeccable, just like Stiles taught him after Deucalion first got into contact with him a few months ago.
“So,” Stiles says, cocking his hip and crossing his arms over his chest, “d’you wanna explain to me what you’re doing in Beacon Hills?”
“Sir…”
“I’m waiting. I don’t need to remind you of the punishment for disobedience, do I?”
Deucalion shakes his head. “No, Sir. I’m sorry.”
“So tell me. What were you and your alpha friends planning?”
Stiles becomes more and more horrified as Deucalion informs him of the Alpha Pack’s intentions. He’s glad he was in the loft that afternoon to preempt any violence and the ultimatum Deucalion would have given Derek. Trying to make Derek kill his betas for their power and join up with the Alpha Pack… How could Deucalion think Derek would ever go for that? Or that Stiles would let him?
Not in a million years.
“What were you thinking?” he spits, incensed.
“I didn’t know—”
“You didn’t know what?”
“That you were in his pack, Sir. You never said.”
“This is a professional relationship, so my personal life is none of your business. Besides, even if I wasn’t friends with Derek, what you were planning wouldn’t be okay.”
Deucalion’s lips thin but he doesn’t defend his actions.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen next,” Stiles says. “You and your buddies are all going to leave Beacon Hills without hurting anyone. You’ll never come back, and you’ll stop trying to build your so-called perfect pack of alphas. No more murder. Got it?”
Deucalion doesn’t accept these terms right away. “If I’m going to do that,” he says instead, his voice tentative, “then I want something in return. Sir.”
Stiles grows suspicious. “What?”
Deucalion raises his head and blood-red eyes stare up into honey. “One last session. Please, I… I need it.”
“Done,” Stiles agrees.
“Now?”
“Not a chance. I don’t do that here. I’ll text you a place and time. Be there.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Now get out of my house.”
* * *
That evening, Derek is more confused than ever.
Earlier, he got to the Stilinski residence just in time to see Deucalion leaving the premises with his metaphorical tail between his legs. His first thought was that the older alpha had done something bad to Stiles, and he’d run the rest of the way to the house and barged in the front door with his claws and fangs at the ready. But all he found was Stiles staring at him bewilderedly. He asked what Deucalion was doing there, and the mystery got even stranger when Stiles prevaricated.
So now here Derek is, driving a short distance behind Stiles’ Jeep to find out what he’s up to. It can’t be anything good if it involves Deucalion. Maybe he’s being blackmailed…
When Stiles leads him to an old abandoned house on the outskirts of town, Derek pulls over to the side of the road and makes the rest of the journey on foot. Stiles’ Jeep is parked right outside the dilapidated building, and next to it is another vehicle that Derek doesn’t recognise. He has his suspicions as to its owner, and those suspicions are proven correct when he sneaks up to the house and peeks in through one of the windows.
Stiles is inside what was once a living room, and he’s with Deucalion. The other alpha should have already sensed Derek’s presence, but he doesn’t show it yet. His attention is solely focused on Stiles as he picks up a duffel bag he must have brought with him and walks into another room, out of sight. Once Stiles is gone, Deucalion turns his head toward the window Derek is spying through, and the expression on his face is odd. It’s as if he’s boastful about whatever Derek is seeing, but humiliated to have a witness to it at the same time.
Very odd indeed.
“Alright,” comes Stiles’ voice, just before he reenters the room. “It’s time.”
Derek’s eyes bug out of their sockets.
Stiles is shirtless, his pale skin and the lithe muscles of his torso on display, and instead of the jeans or chinos he favours, he wears a pair of leather trousers and boots.
“What the fuck?” Derek mouths. He’s flabbergasted when Deucalion actually listens as Stiles commands him to strip off his shirt too, then face one of the walls and brace his hands on it.
Derek must be hallucinating. That’s the only plausible explanation, because there’s no way that what he’s seeing is real.
What follows is even more craziness. Derek has of course heard of BDSM and domination and submission. New York has a thriving nightlife, and even though he was never interested in attending any of those sorts of clubs himself, he’d heard tales and whisperings from a select few people whenever Laura managed to drag him out for a night on the town.
Derek’s mind races as he watches what Stiles does to Deucalion. The certainty in Stiles’ moves makes it clear that this isn’t his first rodeo. Not even close. Derek would never have thought Stiles had it in him to be so dominant, but it explains the unfamiliar look he’d seen on Stiles’ face back in the loft.
To Derek’s surprise, he wants Stiles to look at him like that. As he observes Stiles expertly turning the skin of Deucalion’s back red with a flogger, the black leather tendrils making soft thumping sounds as they strike solid flesh, he finds himself yearning to be in Deucalion’s place. His cock is hard and leaking in his jeans and his breathing has picked up speed. God, does he want Stiles to do that to him—and that’s all he can take before he has to duck out.
Derek flees.
* * *
The next day, Derek is tired because he tossed and turned all night. He couldn’t get the idea of submitting to Stiles out of his head, no matter what he did.
How would it feel?
How would it even work, what with him technically holding a position of power over Stiles as the alpha?
How did Stiles get into being a dom?
How did he meet Deucalion?
How long has Deucalion been submitting to him?
Derek has so many questions, and again he comes to the conclusion that the only way to get answers is to talk to Stiles. His plan to do so last night was forgotten in his shock, but he had enough time to ruminate over it overnight and has attained footing steady enough that he should be able to ask the questions he needs to ask without spontaneously combusting.
It’s going to be difficult, though. Derek worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he dresses himself in a forest-green henley and a pair of black jeans. With one last look at his loft, he grabs his car keys, leaves the building, gets in his Camaro and drives over to Stiles’ house. The driveway is only occupied by Stiles’ Jeep, which is good because Derek would really rather the sheriff not be in the house for the conversation he’s about to initiate. He’s also grateful that it’s summer and Stiles doesn’t have school—he wouldn’t be able to wait any longer to get the answers he craves.
After getting out of his car, Derek uses his ears to discern that Stiles is currently upstairs in his bedroom. He climbs up the side of the house to his window and knocks on the glass.
Stiles appears quicker than Derek thought he would. “Hey, Sourwolf,” he says as he opens the window. He steps back to allow Derek to come inside. “What’s up? Please tell me there’s no new threat in town.”
Derek shakes his head and stands awkwardly by the window as Stiles moves over to his bed. He throws himself down on it, his head just missing the pillows.
“So, if you’re not here to warn me or get me to do research, why are you here?” Stiles asks him, putting a hand behind his head to prop it up. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, ‘cause I am. I’m always happy to see you. I’m just curious.”
Again, Derek is amazed by the difference in Stiles’ two personas. He wonders which is real and which is an act before deciding that they’re both equally real. It’s just that one of them is only required in very specific situations.
“Derek?”
Jerking his head up, Derek’s cheeks redden because he’s been standing there like an idiot for who knows how long. “What was the question again?”
“I asked you why you’re here,” Stiles repeats, looking concerned for him.
“Oh. Right. Well…I have a confession to make.”
This gets Stiles to sit up and pay better attention. “I’m listening.”
Derek attempts for a few seconds to figure out a good way to begin. He settles on coming straight out with it. “I saw you last night,” he confesses. “With Deucalion.”
Stiles’ eyebrows climb high on his forehead. “Oh. That wasn’t what I was expecting.”
“You were— You were making him submit to you,” Derek continues, calling on the bravery he’s used to combat each of the foes his pack has faced since he came back to Beacon Hills. To him, to speak now is a battle just as tough as all of them combined. “Did that have something to do with why he left so quick after he saw you at the loft?”
“Alright, we’re really doing this,” Stiles mumbles to himself. He shakes himself and gets up off of his bed, putting them on equal footing. He meets Derek’s gaze. “Yes, it had everything to do with that.”
“Why?”
“For a while now, Deucalion has been one of my clients,” Stiles apprises. “You want the full story?”
Derek nods, sure that his entire being radiates bemusement. “I think that would help, yeah.”
He struggles to understand when Stiles explains to him how he got started in his secret career as a dom, and he stops trying when Stiles reveals to him that he currently has about three regular clients, all gained by word of mouth in the werewolf community. He meets them all at different locations for their sessions, and they pay him handsomely. Apparently, the pressures of being an alpha can be a lot for his clients to bear, and every now and then they need respite from it, for someone else to take the reins so they don’t have to think at all. Stiles gives that to them.
Derek swallows around the lump in his throat. “And you said that Deucalion is one of your…clients?”
“Yeah. Or he was.” Stiles scoffs. “He’s not anymore, not after that stunt he tried to pull yesterday. Last night was our last session, and I didn’t take any money for it. I did get something important out of it, though. Something better.”
“Do I even want to know?”
“It’s how I got him to leave town. I worked him over hard, and now he won’t bother us again if he knows what’s good for him.”
“How can you be sure he won’t come back?”
Stiles hums. “I can’t, I guess—not a hundred percent—but I think I left enough of an impression on him that he won’t go against me. Trust me when I say that I’m very good at getting inside the heads of my clients. That’s part of what makes me such a good dom. Plus, while I would normally never even think of breaking a client’s trust like this, there was the threat that I would expose his submissive tendencies to his flunkies if he tried to renege on our deal.”
“This is a lot to wrap my head around,” Derek says. He searches blindly for the desk chair behind him and sits down.
“This doesn’t change anything between us, does it?” Stiles enquires, folding one arm across his torso in a show of self-consciousness. “I’d hate it if it did.”
Part of Derek, the cowardly part, wants to reassure Stiles that it doesn’t have to change anything at all. They can go on as if this discussion never happened, never mentioning Stiles’ extracurricular activities again. He’s sorely tempted to do just that, his cowardice almost winning the silent war inside his head, but then he remembers how close he’d been to losing his shit the previous afternoon when his responsibilities almost became too much. Sure, the threat of the Alpha Pack has allegedly been taken care of now, but Derek still feels overwhelmed by the position of power he gave himself. What Stiles said about letting go and letting someone else make the decisions and issue the commands for a while…it sounds like heaven.
And if there was ever someone Derek could be that vulnerable with, it would be Stiles. It seems perfect.
There’s just one problem: he doesn’t want to pay for it. He doesn’t want it to be a business transaction between them. He cares about Stiles too much for that. If that’s all Stiles was willing to give him, he’d take it, but it would gradually destroy him inside.
“Oh God, I’ve ruined things between us, haven’t I?” Stiles frets, running a hand through his hair.
“No, you haven’t! But…”
Stiles eyes him warily. “But?”
“Would you…” Come on, be brave. You’ve got this, Derek affirms to himself. “Would you be interested in doing that with me?”
Stiles stares. Then he stares some more, like Derek has broken him. “What?” he says eventually, lowering his arm back to his side. “You want me to dominate you?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure you know what you’re asking for?”
Derek shakes his head. “I guess I don’t entirely because, before seeing what I saw last night, I’d never even considered being in that position. But I want to find out what it’s like. I think it might be something I need.”
“Huh.” Stiles takes a step closer. “If I said yes, how would our arrangement look? It wouldn’t feel right to take money from you.”
“In an ideal world, it would be…more…than what you’ve got with your clients,” Derek responds, going for total transparency. It’s the only way he can possibly get exactly what he desires. “I wouldn’t be just another client to you.”
Stiles advances another step. “What would you be, then?”
Derek takes a deep breath. “I’d be yours.”
A third step. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Unless I’ve been reading the signs wrong this whole time,” Derek says, clutching at the arms of Stiles’ desk chair so tightly that his knuckles turn white, “you like me. As more than a friend.”
“You haven’t been reading the signs wrong,” Stiles confirms. “Not at all. I do like you. A lot. If we’re both being honest with each other here, I’ve liked you for longer than I wanna admit, even to myself. I don’t know what it says about me, but I think it started all the way back when you were a jackass to everyone.”
Derek feels such exquisite relief that he can’t help but laugh. “Me too.”
“I thought so.”
“Really? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I know what happened to you in the past, with Kate and with Paige. I wanted to leave things at your pace.”
Derek breezes past the reminders of his two tragic old flames. “So what d’you say?”
Stiles holds up a finger. “Just to be crystal clear: you want me all the way? As a boyfriend, including dates, kissing, sex, the whole shebang?”
Derek nods. “If that’s okay with you.”
“And you still want to submit to me?”
“I do.”
“How?”
Derek cocks his head. “I don’t understand.”
“As far as the actual submission goes, d’you want an arrangement similar to what I have with my clients, where I’d just help take some of the weight off your shoulders when you need it and things would be completely non-sexual?”
Derek’s response to this question is an easy, “No.”
“So when we do scenes, you’d be okay with me introducing sexual things into them?”
“More than okay.”
“And—final question—do you see it as something we do occasionally in the bedroom, every time but still only in the bedroom, or as a 24/7 arrangement?”
Derek digs claws he hadn’t realised had come out into the plastic of Stiles’ chair. “I’ll have to see how it goes, but, for now, the first option sounds good.”
Stiles paces back and forth for a while. Derek lets him think it over, knowing it’s a lot to ask, even with the truth of their feelings for each other out in the open now. This knowledge doesn’t make it easy to wait, though.
Luckily, Stiles doesn’t make him wait too long. He quits pacing and faces Derek again. “Yes. Yes to everything,” he says earnestly.
Derek holds his breath. “Really?”
“Yup.” Stiles’ mouth stretches into a grin. “I wanna date you, and I wanna be your dom. I really wanna be your dom, actually. The thought of you submitting to me is hot as fuck.”
“Oh thank God…”
All the tension in Derek’s body vanishes in an instant, and he can’t resist leaping up from the desk chair and closing the rest of the distance between himself and Stiles. He curls a hand around the back of Stiles’ neck and crashes their mouths together. The kiss is intense at first, both of them releasing pent-up emotions, but it soon becomes something calmer and more tender. It’s the best kiss Derek has ever had, purely because it’s with Stiles.
“You’re really mine?” Stiles whispers against his lips, having trouble believing this is actually happening.
Derek can relate. “I’m yours,” he whispers back. He pecks Stiles on the lips one last time before backing off. Stiles’ grin is still there, like he can’t get rid of it. It makes Derek feel all tingly inside.
“Before we actually do anything, we’ll need to go over some stuff,” Stiles says. “But I think that can wait for now.”
Derek nods his acceptance. “Okay.”
“Are you hungry?” Stiles asks him, apropos of nothing.
Derek checks in with his body. “I guess I could eat. Why?”
“Because I was thinking of taking you on our first date now, if that’s okay with you.”
It’s Derek’s turn to grin. “That’s more than okay.”
He trails after Stiles as he exits the bedroom, leads the way down to the ground floor and slips on his shoes in the foyer. Stiles talks the whole way, even when they’re walking outside to Derek’s Camaro, offering suggestions of places they can go to eat and even other things they can do after their stomachs are full. Derek listens and chips in whenever Stiles stops long enough to give him a chance, but mostly he’s content to let his new partner babble.
This day turned out so much better than he expected, and he can’t wait to find out what’s in store next.