Chapter Text
There are days, many of them, that Stiles still can’t believe he’s at the Olympics. He’s already been at the Olympic Village for two weeks and some nights he’s afraid to go to sleep, in case he wakes up back in Beacon Hills, California.
“I can’t believe they didn’t have David Tennant carry in the torch,” he mutters to Scott. Scott is his roommate and newly minted best friend.
“What?” Scott asks. OK, so he’s not very good at it. But hey, it’s the Olympics, Stiles will cut him some slack. They’re all stressed.
“You know, like Doctor Who?” Stiles prompts.
Scott stares at him blankly. “I don’t know. You asked me.”
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Nevermind, dude. Don’t worry about it.”
Scott apparently takes his words to heart and goes back to staring off into the middle distance. And by middle distance, Stiles means the pretty archer, Allison Argent.
“Doesn’t she look great?” Scott sighs.
Stiles claps him on the shoulder. “Yeah, she looks awesome. Can you tell what country they’re up to yet?”
“They’re on Qatar,” Lydia Martin says from his left. Stiles jerks and turns to stare at her. She doesn’t look up from her phone.
“Are you watching the Parade of Nations on your phone?” Stiles demands.
“Obviously,” Lydia replies shortly. Stiles leans deep into her space trying to get a glimpse of her tiny screen. She moves out of range.
“Lydia, did I ever tell you that you are the cutest thing in a Ralph Lauren hat that I have ever seen?” Stiles asks her.
“Did I ever tell you, no way Stilinski, not if you win gold at the next four Games?” she replies, finally looking up from her screen.
Stiles droops. “It might have come up,” he admits.
She pats his cheek condescendingly. “There you go.” She moves off, pushing further into the crowd.
“You’ll regret that win I do actually win!” he calls after her, but she doesn’t turn around. “Can you believe her?” he asks Scott.
“What?” Scott asks. Stiles shakes his head. “Hey,” Scott asks, “should I ask for her number?”
Stiles thinks it over. “Well, the other times you’ve tried to approach her, her father-slash-coach tried to have you banned from the ceremonies.”
“So, now’s a good time because he’s not here?” Scott asks.
“That’s not even sort of what I said.”
It’s no use. Scott’s gone.
Stiles surveys the crowd around him, looking for some of the other athletes he knows. Well, the ones he knows and hasn’t alienated. He’s pretty sure that if he approaches Erica again, she’ll actually punch him, instead of just bunting a volleyball in his general direction.
The only bright side to this whole thing is that Jackson isn’t here. Apparently he’d needed his beauty sleep before the swim tomorrow. Well, okay, Stiles gets that. But he reserves the right to mock him anyway.
He looks back to where he last saw Allison and sees that Scott has actually managed to do pretty well for himself. She’s laughing, at least, and it doesn’t even appear to be at Scott’s expense.
Well, maybe Stiles should ask him for advice. It’s not like he’s having any luck of his own. He catches the eye of one of the athletes from Uruguay, since he’s at the back of the USA parade. They wave. He waves back. Maybe that’s the secret. Maybe he should just stick to people who can’t understand him when he opens his mouth.
Except that, in the last week, he’s found he doesn’t want an easy lay. He wants a more difficult one. A very specific one.
Stiles is just considering whether he should actually seek him out when the crowd starts to move.
“Seriously?” he says to the guy next to him. “We’re moving already?”
The guy shrugs and goes back to doing whatever on his phone. Stiles is pretty sure he’s on Twitter. Stiles is passing serious judgement. Who goes into the Olympic Stadium on their phone? Stiles’ dad would have killed him for sure. Of course, Stiles’ dad has a lot of strong feeling about people who texted in any situation other than stationary and preferably seated.
Stiles feels like his stomach is about to explode when they go out into the stadium. The crowd is roaring, there are lights flashing in his face and he can’t make out anything. It’s probably one of the best moments of his life.
When he’s adjusted to the fact that he’s in the Olympic Stadium , he looks around to see how the other athletes are doing and catches sight of Derek Hale through the crowd.
The racer looks cool as a cucumber, apparently unconcerned about the fact that there are several thousand people currently cheering for them.
Stiles practically barrels over a pretty blonde gymnast and a pair of fencers to get to him.
“Hey, sourwolf, you could try smiling,” he says when he reaches Derek’s side. He slings a friendly arm over Derek’s shoulder. He’s seen some of the other athletes doing it.
Derek looks at him, face impassive. His gaze moves from Stiles’ arm to his face.
“I’m taking my arm off!” Stiles says defensively, removing his arm. “Come on, just one smile. For me?”
Derek just bares his teeth at him.
“Yeah, I’ll take it. But would it kill you to show a little team spirit?”
Derek shrugs. “Probably.”
Stils grins and nudges Derek in the ribs. “See, I knew you could be funny. Come on, wave for your family.”
Derek sighs gustily, like Stiles’ presence is a great burden. He does, however, turn and flash the nearest camera a smile and a wave. Stiles waves with him, hoping this shot gets to whichever tv his dad is watching this on.
“There you go!” Stiles says delightedly, bouncing on his toes. “Was that so hard?”
Derek just shrugs. “Why do you even care?”
“What, a guy can’t be friendly at the Olympics?”
“I already told you, I don’t want any distractions,” Derek says, moving over to put distance between them.
Stiles takes a step to close the distance. “And I know I’m very distracting, but you could at least be nice to me. I’m not asking for your first born here. Just a drink sometime.”
“I said no,” Derek says shortly, and does some sort of fast move that puts him out of Stiles’ reach. Well, that’s probably why Derek is in running and Stiles just jumps off of things.
--
Stiles slams a tray down across from Danny. “I need to know the truth, Danny Mahealani. I am or am I not attractive to gay guys?”
Danny looks up at him impassively. “That question offends me on so many levels.”
“Liar,” Stiles replies, sliding into the seat. “Nothing offends you.”
Danny tilts his head, conceding the point. “And by gay guys, I can assume you mean?”
“Your stupidly attractive teammate, Derek Hale? Yes, yes you can.”
“You’re asking me to rat on a teammate?” Danny asks skeptically.
“Think of it as more of a trade. I have, in my possession, the number of the Polish diver you were eyeing the other day. And I heard he and and his synchronising partner teamed up in other areas as well.” He stares Danny down meaningfully.
Danny glares at him. “You’re a terrible person.”
“It keeps me up at night,” Stiles replies. “So, do you think that we can help each
other?”
Danny sighs. “I can tell you that you don’t even have a chance before our final event. Derek doesn’t trust people.”
“What, he’s afraid I’ll take his relay secrets and apply them to my triple somersault?” Stiles asks incredulously.
Danny shrugs. “Don’t ask me, man. But he never does anything until he’s done with the events.”
Stiles gapes at him. “But, but you’re the 400m relay team!” Danny raises an eyebrow at him. “That’s one of the last events on the schedule!”
Danny shrugs. “Then move on, because nothing’s happening before then.”
Stiles drops his head into his hands. “I hate my life.”
--
The really terrible part is that he actually likes Derek Hale. He fucking wishes he could move on. That Polish diving team wasn’t in the least bit exclusive about who they took in.
And it’s not like he’s Scott or anything, he’s not pining over Derek with his last breath, but he’s pretty sure that after two solid weeks of flirting with the guy, it would be kind of a dick move to just hook up with someone else. There’s some kind of implied commitment. That’s a thing, he’s pretty sure.
In other news, Scott was reaching new levels of sad. He’d made friends with the two Italians in the room over Allison’s--Stiles would have paid some serious cash to see that conversation--and has been sneaking onto the balcony above hers and dropping notes, or pieces of candy that her coach-father won’t allow her to have.
It’s kind of sweet, in a sad kind of way.
Stiles takes comfort in the fact that if he’s going to be one of the only athletes not getting laid in Olympic Village, at least he’s not the only one.
--
Jackson makes it to the finals, the smug bastard. Stiles is relieved, but only because he’s worried that Jackson would kill anyone who stood in his way to the semi-finals. Stiles hopes, for the sake of the trip back, that he at least gets bronze. Danny and Lydia are the only ones who tolerate his moods.
Stiles doesn’t bother, he has a broody person of his own to worry about.
The good news is that Allison made it through the first round of archery elimination. She even ranked fifth in the individual ranking rounds. Scott’s acting so proud as it’s if he fired the arrow himself.
Stiles ends up having to leave the room, just to escape his talking about the perfect way she drew the bow back. He’s seen Lord of the Rings, and Legolas made better shots while riding horseback.
He’s surprised to find Derek in the cafeteria. It’s usually the kind of place Derek would avoid, all chaos and noise. The Russian volleyball team is busy feeding each other cherries and whipped cream. Stiles has to actively tear his gaze away from that tempting sight.
“So, I was thinking,” Stiles says, sliding in beside one of Derek’s other teammates, Boyd something-or-other. Stiles hadn’t really been paying attention. “The new Batman movie is out here now. You should go with me.”
“I told you-”
“I know, no distractions. It’s just a movie! Two hours, tops. I’ll even let you pay for your own ticket and everything.”
“How generous of you,” Derek says dryly. Stiles tries to hide a smile and doesn’t quite manage. He doesn’t get why the media says Derek is humorless. Of course, not everyone can interview as well as Stiles can.
“I’m a gentleman that way,” Stiles agree. Boyd snorts. “Hey, your teammates could come too. That way it’s a team thing. No bad intentions.”
Derek gives Stiles a dirty look. “I don’t think-”
“I’ve been wanting to see the new Batman movie,” Boyd says thoughtfully. “And I think Isaac’s been wanting an excuse to hang out with Erica.”
“The volleyball girl?” Stiles asks, interested. Apparently, he really is the only one not hooking up.
“That’s the one.”
“She’s scary,” Stiles says, shuddering. Boyd raises an eyebrow and jerks his head at Derek. Stiles can practically hear him saying ‘do you see who you’re chasing after?’. Stiles just shrugs in response, because what can he say. He likes a challenge.
“I’m not sure,” Derek says, but he’s wavering. Stiles can tell.
“Come on,” he wheedles. “Isn’t Batman, like, your spirit animal or something? Tall, dark and brooding?”
Derek glares at him. “Is this you trying to be flattering?”
Stiles gives him his most winning smile. “Is it working?”
Derek shoves him off the bench. “No.”
Stiles bounces back up with a smile. “Let’s say eight tomorrow.”
Derek rolls his eyes but doesn’t disagree. Stiles exchanges smiles with Boyd and leaves before he can blow it for himself.
--
When Stiles goes by Derek’s room the next day, because he is a gentleman even when the other person refuses to admit it’s a date, he’s surprised to see a blonde woman leaning against the doorframe.
“Come on, Derek, we both know you want it,” she’s saying, her voice a low purr. Stiles feels his hands clench into fists just at the sound of it.
He can’t hear what Derek says in response, but she gives a throaty laugh. “After all the fun we had last time?”
She shifts enough that Stiles can see her profile. It’s the other gymnast who made it through qualifying with Lydia. C-something. He wasn’t really paying attention. Lydia had been more impressive anyway.
He moves closer because he’s not about to be scared away by some gymnast bitch.
“-play with someone your own age?” Derek is saying when Stiles gets close enough to hear him. He still can’t see him though, which means that Derek is pretty far into his room.
Gymnast-bitch pouts. “Oh, but you know how I like them young. What’s your teammates name? Isaac something?”
Stiles hears an honest to god growl and if it were directed at him, he would be getting out of dodge. The blonde just smirks though.
“Touched a nerve, did I?”
Stiles finally reaches Derek’s door and steps around the blonde. “Knock, knock,” he says playfully, rapping on the open door frame, totally ignoring the gymnast. “Ready to go, big guy?”
“Oh, who’s this?” the blonde asks.
“Not interested,” Stiles says coldly. Now that he can see her full on, he recognises her. Kate Argent. It was her fifth time at the Olympics and she’d been going on too-old last time. She's at least ten years older than the next oldest gymnast, and it's starting to show. This close, there’s something mean in her eyes and the set of her mouth. He doesn’t like her.
He turns back to Derek and pretends not see that Derek’s hands are clenched in the bedding. “Come one, movies wait for no man.”
“Aw, does the little runner have a date?” Kate mocks and Stiles grits his teeth.
“Just because you don’t have any friends who’ll hang out with you, doesn’t mean Derek doesn’t.” Well, no one’s ever accused Stiles of temper control.
Kate’s face twists into an ugly sneer. “Oh it-”
“Yeah, you’re real great,” Stiles interrupts. “But Derek and I are leaving. Come on.” He walks off, really hoping that Derek will actually follow him. After a couple of steps, he can’t help himself and he turns back. “Great job today. You really stuck that landing.”
Derek, who had followed him, thank god, snorts. Kate had almost fallen after her dismount off the uneven bars and it was likely what had her down in the twenties, instead of the low teens, in ranking.
“What a bitch,” Stiles says when they get to the elevator, out of hearing range.
Derek grunts, which Stiles takes as agreement.
“Why was she bugging you anyway?”
Derek shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “We met last in Beijing.”
“Well, you should stay away from her. She looks like she’ll eat you for breakfast,”
Derek twitches weirdly, but he just gives Stiles a flat look. “I saw the way you were talking to Lydia Martin at opening ceremony. She’s no delicate flower either.”
Stiles snorts. “First, I can’t believe you said delicate flower. Secondly, Lydia is a perfect princess. She’s just focused. Thirdly, I think that almost resembled a joke.”
“I joke,” Derek protests.
Stiles pats him on the arm. “Sure you do, big guy.”
The only thing that can be said about leaving Olympic Village is that it is easier to do than to get back in.
They’re caught up in a storm of athletes leaving. There are the gymnasts who are celebrating or commiserating over their rankings, the swimmers who made it or didn’t, and the people, like Stiles and Derek, who don’t have any events for another week and are trying to take advantage of being free in another country.
“So, Boyd texted me and said that he and the others couldn’t make it. I had assumed he told you as well, but you’re not mad or anything, are you?”
“It’s fine,” Derek says.
“Great! This is gonna be great. This is such a good summer for movies, too. It’s a good thing we’re in London. You were in the 2008 Olympics, weren’t you? What was that like?”
“It was the Olympics, it was probably about the same as it will be this year,”
Stiles makes a face. “No, I mean, what was it like being in Beijing? Did anyone speak English?”
“I didn’t leave the Village.”
“I bet you didn’t do much socializing, either,” Stiles says playfully.
Derek’s mouth twists. “I did enough.”
“Having dinner with your teammates every other days doesn’t count. Where is your sense of adventure! You’re in a foreign country, you’re young! There are so many new people to meet and new things to see!”
“I have to concentrate on my event,” Derek says calmly.
“Yeah, yeah, so you’ve said. And I get that, but there’s more to life than that, you know?”
“Not for me,” Derek replies.
“That sounds lonely,” Stiles says softly.
Derek just grunts.
--
The movie actually turns out to be a lot of fun. Not that Stiles is surprised, because come on, it’s Batman. But it turns out that Derek can loosen up a bit. Apparently you just have to work at it for a solid hour at a time.
Stiles even manages to get him to agree to dinner, albeit a short one. Derek’s self-appointed curfew cut into any serious hang-out time, and Stiles is even more disappointed by that than he’d expected to be.
He even walks Derek back to his room, but that’s more because he doesn’t want to go than anything else.
He does not kiss Derek goodnight. That’s mostly because he doesn’t want to compete with a black eye.
--
“I think she likes me,” Scott says dreamily to the ceiling.
“I’m so happy for you,” Stiles replies. And he is, really, but he wishes he could have as much success in his own pursuits. Trust him to go after one of the few athletes in Olympic Village who wouldn’t put out. He’d heard rumors about an orgy down in the Russian section.
“Do you want to keep seeing her after the Olympics are over?” Stiles asks. Scott is from Maine, and Stiles is pretty sure that Allison is from Colorado
“Of course!” Scott sounds offended by the question, and Stiles rolls his eyes. It would be just that easy for him.
“Hey, do you know if the gymnast Kate Argent is related to her?”
Scott rolls over so that he’s facing Stiles. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure she’s Allison’s aunt. Why?”
“I ran into her today. She’s not very nice.”
“Well, Allison is great,” Scott replies, like that settles it.
“Yeah, I’m sure she is. Do you know anything else about Kate?”
“Not really. She got bronze in Beijing, didn’t she?”
“I think so,” Stiles sighs. He’ll look into it tomorrow. “Goodnight Scott.”
“Night.”
--
As it turns out, Stiles is the best at research. They should give him a gold medal just for that, because he is just that good.
Except he’s starting to wish that he’d just left Kate Argent behind in the hall, because what he finds kind of sucks. And it makes him want to punch someone
There’s not much out there, because even though athletes tend to be gossipy little bitches, there is an unspoken rule that what happens in Olympic Village, stays in Olympic Village.
And, apparently what happened last time in Beijing was pretty brutal. Derek and his team had been projected at the top of their game for that year, the expected winner from almost every sports analyst who knew what they were talking about.
And then, suddenly, the whole team was off their game, Derek worst of all. Something changed in between arriving at the Olympic Village and the final 100m run. And suddenly the USA hopes of gold from their relay team had gone up in smoke.
All Derek will say about it later is that he allowed himself to be distracted.
All Kate Argent will say during interviews is that she had a lot of fun with an unnamed someone on the relay team.
Stiles really just wants to punch someone in the face.
--
Stiles waits another day before he goes to visit Derek again. He doesn’t want to chase the guy off by being too pushy.
The door is cracked open a bit when he gets there. He knocks lightly, out of courtesy, then opens it anyway.
“Hey, Derek, I was thinking-” Stiles trails off as he catches sight of Derek, mouth going dry.
It’s not like he hasn’t his share of half naked men, he’s a professional diver, it comes with the territory. But something about watching Derek doing sit-ups is making his breath catch in his throat.
He just stands there, staring like an idiot before Derek catches sight of him.
“Stiles. What are you doing here?” Derek gets to his feet in one smooth, mouth-watering movement.
“I was, um,” Stiles trails off, severely distracted by Derek’s abs. He pulls himself together through sheer force of will. “I was thinking that we could hang out. Maybe.” His gaze is still stuck around Derek’s chest area.
Derek clears his throat and when Stiles drags his eyes up to meet Derek’s, he’s relieved to see that Derek looks amused. There’s something else in his dark gaze, something that makes Stiles flush down to his toes. Stiles licks his lips nervously and Derek tracks the movement.
“Um,” Stiles says, uncertain and thrown off balance.
Derek crosses his arms over his chest, muscles in his bares arms flexing. “I’m kind of busy here, Stiles.”
Stiles swallows. “Yeah, I can see that. Still, maybe you need a break. Too much work is bad for you, right?” He’s pretty sure that’s a thing.
Derek’s mouth twitches. “Hard work never killed anyone.”
“I am fairly certain you’re wrong about that,” Stiles replies. “Heart failures, ulcers, muscle strain are all legitimate medical concerns. Come on, muscles. Break time.”
Derek sighs, but Stiles can see a smile. “Alright. Let me grab a shirt.”
Stiles has to bite his lip to stop a “No need” from slipping out.
--
Stiles manages to sneak in to watch the gymnastic finals. Partly because he wants to cheer on Lydia, who he’s kind-of-sort-of becomes friends with, despite her best efforts. Part of it is because he wants to see Kate Argent fail horribly.
As expected, Lydia does amazingly. Stiles isn’t an expert in gymnastics, by any stretch of the imagination, but he knows his way around a flip, and she’s impressive. Besides, he’s surrounded by people who do know their shit, and they sound pretty damn impressed.
He feels a determined sense of glee when Kate Argent fumbles one of her flips on the balance beam and almost falls off. Serves her right, the creepy bitch.
In the end, Lydia gets the gold medal and no one is surprised. Second place is a French girl who had been hitting on Stiles pretty aggressively two days ago. He’s starting to wish he took her up on it because there is serious cool points in saying you tapped a silver medal winner. Except that he’s still kind of hung up on a certain relay runner and he’s pretty sure that sleeping with pretty French girls is ‘way to blow it 101’.
The bronze winner is a Russian girl who he’s pretty sure was one of the orgy participants the other day. Oh, the things Stiles is missing out on.
Kate Argent isn’t even in the top five. So, that’s just icing on the cake. Stiles gives her a sarcastic thumbs up when she looks over at him.
Suck it, gymnast bitch.
--
At the bar that night, everyone wants to buy Lydia a drink, but Stiles forces his way to the front with a cosmopolitan.
“For you,” he says as charmingly as he can. It’s probably about a five. Maybe.
“I’m still not going to sleep with you. Ever.”
Stiles grins, not bothered by the slight. “Think of it as a thank you.”
Lydia raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow at him, but takes the drink. She regards him thoughtfully as she sips. “Is this about Kate Argent?”
“No!” Stiles says, too fast. He laughs nervously. “What makes you say that?”
“Because you were looking at her like you wanted her to fall straight off the beam.”
“She almost did anyway,” Stiles replies happily. “Must be the power of positive thinking.”
“Hm, yes,” Lydia says cooly. “Well, Derek Hale was looking a lot friendlier last time I saw him.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles says firmly.
Lydia just gives him a flatly disbelieving look. Stiles leaves before her magic powers can get him to reveal anything else.
--
The thing about making a lot of friends at the Olympics is the obligation to go and cheer them on. Scott will never forgive him if Stiles doesn’t show up at the elimination race.
It’s not as though Stiles has an issue with cycling or anything, but it’s pretty hard to tell Scott apart from any of the other cyclists. He just yells really loud and tries not to crane too far into other people’s space as he searches for Scott’s number.
Stiles really wishes he’d been able to get Derek to come with him.
“I don’t watch other people’s events,” Derek had said when Stiles had asked him.
Stiles had stared at him. “You’re kidding me. You are at the Olympics. People are paying hundreds of dollars to see this!”
“I don’t want-”
“To be distracted,” Stiles had finished with him. “Right. Well, look me up if you’re free sometime.”
Which, of course, Derek hadn’t. Which is why Stiles is sitting in the stands, alone, yelling for Scott to make it to the finish so hard his throat hurts.
He wonders, briefly, where Allison Argent is, but then he remembers that her father-coach was crazy and probably not letting her go anywhere but her room and the archery range.
Scott lands in seventh place. Which puts him through to the next round and ensures that Stiles actually gets to have a roommate for the next two weeks or so before they have to leave again.
--
Stiles has always found the water to be relaxing. It’s soothing and quiet, and he’s graceful in the water and in the air like he never is on land.
The water has always made sense. You kick out with your feet or your arms and you move. No balance, no roots or uneven ground to trip him up.
Diving is an extension of that. It’s just gravity, it’s just a constant steady pull that’s always reassuringly there. He just has to use it, instead of letting it use him.
He does a few flips off one of the high boards, just for the joy of it, and on the third pass he doesn’t shoot straight to the surface. He lets himself drift, floating gently. He pushes through the water with even strokes until he feels the wall in front of him and surfaces with a gasp.
He’s about to dive back under when he sees a flash of dark hair, and then he almost chokes on the pool water.
Derek is leaning against one of the far walls, his gaze fixed unerringly and unblinkingly on Stiles. Stiles’ grins broadly, and waves. Just to show off, he does a flip off the wall and kicks his way deeper, swimming towards the edge closest to Derek.
Derek is still watching him when he surfaces again. He doesn’t look like he’s moved at all, his gaze steady. Stiles braces his hands on the edge of the pool and pulls himself up in one smooth move.
Water sluicing off of him, he moves over to the corner where Derek is standing. Considering how far in the shadows he is, it may as well be called lurking.
“What are you doing here?” Stiles asks, trying not to sound too delighted.
Derek’s eyes follow a trickle of water down Stiles’ body for a moment before his eyes raise back up to meet Stiles’. “Your roommate said I might find you here.”
Stiles spreads his arms wide. “Well, here I am.”
Derek is avoiding his eyes weirdly, looking into the middle distance over Stiles’ shoulder. “Yes,” he says, voice weirdly rough, “here you are.”
“What can I do for you?” Stiles asks.
Derek shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have come.” He makes a move like he’s about to turn around and leave.
Stiles shakes his head. “No, wait!” He reaches out and grabs Derek’s arm. His fingers, still wet, close around Derek’s leather jacket and Stiles jerks back.
He’s abruptly aware of the fact that he’s barely wearing anything and still soaking wet. He feels ridiculous next to Derek; fully dressed and looking as amazing as he always does. Stiles is probably even dripping on Derek’s shoes.
He takes a quick step back, then another. “I’m sorry. I should-” he fights the urge to cover himself. He’s gotten used to the tiny swimsuits he has to wear for diving, but standing in front of Derek, he feels like he’s a gangly kid again, trying to talk his coach into letting him wear regular trunks.
(His coach had agreed, then laughed his ass off when hitting the water forced the trunks down around his knees the first time he tried a dive)
“Should what?” Derek says, voice lower than usual. Stiles stifles a shiver and yeah, he should really get out of here right now, because the suit he’s wearing is good for diving and nothing else. Like hiding his growing attraction to Derek Hale. So to speak.
Stiles looks up to say something witty and clever that will get him out of this situation, and Derek is way closer than he was a second ago. Stiles brain stutters to a halt.
“Um,” he says. “Should go get changed.” The words come out slowly and there’s enough space between the words to drive a car through. Maybe a small car, but a car nonetheless.
Derek shakes his head like he’s going to say no. Stiles takes a quick step back because the other option is doing something that is very ungentlemanly, and also probably not allowed in a public pool.
“Wait,” Derek says, voice forceful. His hands reach out to grip Stiles’ bare shoulder and Stiles freezes. He feels like a rabbit caught in Derek’s heavy stare because Derek will not look away. Stiles can feel a flush creeping up his neck because the look in Derek’s eyes makes him feel like he’s on fire.
A trail of water drips along his temple and down his neck. Derek’s gaze tracks it like it’s the most important thing he’s ever seen and Stiles is dying here. Derek watches as it slips down his chest, and honest to god licks his lips and Stiles is going to pass out.
“Derek?” Stiles manages to croak out. His voice sounds like it’s been scraped over with sandpaper
Derek’s gaze jerks back up to Stiles’ face and his eyes are blazing hot. Stiles leans in, moving towards him like it’s gravity, pulling Stiles in like it always has.
“I really shouldn’t have come here,” Derek says, pulling back so abruptly that Stiles almost falls over. He leaves the pool at a brisk walk, leaving Stiles behind, cold, confused and painfully aroused.