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The thing about Derek is that from the start, Stiles thinks he's hot.
Like, stupidly hot. Those stupid cheekbones and stupid intense eyes and stupid sculpted chest and just…yeah. Hot.
Mostly what's been getting him through without making too much of an idiot of himself or like, collapsing in a panic attack of despair and hopelessness are the various-- if few, and ultimately insignificant-- caveats to said hotness.
First up it was the fear. Being mortally terrified of someone, even if they are the most attractive human being you've come across in person, kind of helps put things in perspective.
Then the fear went away, and Stiles did some mental flailing before he settled on the hair.
It wasn't the perfect alternative-- Derek's hair wasn't bad, or anything, but it was kind of obnoxious and spiky and immovable, and faced with the onslaught of his everything else, Stiles figured he'd settle. He told himself it reminded him of Jackson's dumbass jock hair, and that helped a bit.
Then what happens is things kind of go to shit, and once the dust has settled and it turns out everyone's okay Derek tells them all to go home and get some rest, and one week turns into two, and two into three, and three into a month, and two nights before the full moon is the first time Stiles sees Derek, and. His hair.
Stiles makes possibly the most unmanly squeaking noise he's ever made-- which is saying something, unfortunately-- and flails a bit.
Everyone turns to look at him.
"It's-- uh." He bites down on his lip and shakes his head. "Never-- um, never mind."
He keeps his mouth shut and just stares. Derek clearly hasn't bothered cutting his hair since Stiles last saw him, because it's-- it's all long, or well, not long long, but enough that he has it swept back from his face, and it's not spiky or obnoxious or anything anymore, it's just super fucking hot, like the rest of him. Kind of-- dashing, and oh man, Stiles hates himself a bit for thinking that.
"Uh…Stiles?" says Scott, kind of hesitantly.
"What?" Stiles blinks.
"Are you coming?"
"Coming where?" says Stiles.
Derek rolls his eyes. "Everyone's coming," he says, and that is apparently that, even though Stiles still has no idea what's going on.
Stupid Derek with his stupid hair and stupid everything.
He's even more pissed at Derek about the whole hair thing when he realises what he apparently unintentionally agreed to was some kind of-- of pack-bonding hike through the woods.
"Dude," he says to no one in particular about an hour in, wheezing, "Dude, as the only one hundred per-cent legitimate pure human here, I have to protest."
"Don't you have your ventilator?" says Scott quietly.
"Of course I do," says Stiles. "This is a-- a moral protest, or something."
Derek snorts. "It's good for you," he says.
"I disrespectfully disagree," says Stiles. "Lacrosse training is good for me. Going for a paced run is good for me. Eating healthy is good for me. Trying to keep up with a bunch of werewolves for hours at a time in a forest where everything is designed specifically to trip me up and break my legs, is not good for me."
"Shut up, Stiles," says Derek, not even slowing.
"Shut up, Stiles," Stiles mimics meanly under his breath, rolling his eyes and then walking straight into Derek's back, who's pulled up short ahead of him.
Oh, thinks Stiles. Yeah. Werewolf hearing. Oops.
Derek waits a palpable second, and Stiles isn't sure whether he should stay where he is or move away.
Moving away might draw more attention to his existence, which at the moment he'd be pretty pleased to go totally unnoticed by Derek.
In the end Derek moves on without saying anything. Stiles takes a moment to breathe deeply.
He catches Jackson's eye when he starts walking again; Jackson gives him the trademarked you're such a weirdo, I don't know why I associate with you look and then turns away.
"What is going on with you, dude?" Scott whispers to him, because even though he actually is a werewolf he's still dumb enough to forget that everyone else can hear them no matter how quietly he speaks.
"Later," says Stiles. "I need to focus all my concentration on not dying. None to spare for talking."
Jackson snorts loudly, and Derek says long-sufferingly, "If only."
Stiles refuses to say anything to Scott about it until they've turned onto his street, because who knows what Derek's doing with his creepy super-hearing at this particular moment.
At which point he thumps his forehead despairingly on the steering wheel and moans, "His hair!"
"What?" says Scott, predictably.
"Derek grew his hair, dude, did you not notice?" says Stiles.
"Uh, no," says Scott. "You did?"
"Obviously," says Stiles. "It's like-- ugh, dude, it looks good, I hate him."
"Wait," says Scott slowly, "Why would-- why does his hair even matter?"
"Because it's him, and he's all-- him, and before it was okay because at least he had obnoxious hair, and now his hair is as freaking ridiculously perfect as the rest of him, and my life is over."
"Derek had obnoxious hair?" says Scott. And then, "Wait, wait, you like Derek now? Dude, when did that happen? Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because he had obnoxious hair!" says Stiles. "Duh."
"Um," says Scott.
Stiles sighs. "It was like-- as long as I could find something I didn't like about him, it didn't matter, you know? First it was because I was scared of him, but then I got over that so I had to rely on the hair. Obviously I made it into a bigger deal than it probably was-- it wasn't bad or anything-- but dude, the alternative was admitting that I have feelings for Derek Hale."
"Right, no, I get it," says Scott. "But why couldn't you, like, I don't know, focus on the fact that most of the time he's a massive asshole?"
"Uh," says Stiles. "Because he's not?"
"He really is," says Scott.
"Okay, he is," says Stiles. "But I-- I kind of like it?"
Scott just stares at him, horrified. Stiles manoeuvres the Jeep into his driveway and kills the engine.
"I'm so screwed," he groans, dropping his head to the wheel again.
"Yeah, you kind of are," agrees Scott.
Stiles lifts his head to glare. "You're a great friend," he says dryly.
Stiles thinks about it later, and it's okay, really. Yeah, before he could pretend he didn't want Derek, even though he totally did, and denial is awesome, but even if he has to get over it and admit to himself (and Scott) that he really, really does, that doesn't leave him anywhere either.
Because what is he going to do about it?
Nothing, that's what. If anything is to ever come of wanting other than feeling pathetic and not getting laid ever it has to be mutual, and Stiles is pretty freaking positive that it isn't.
So, that's awesome. Or well, not awesome, but better than…something.
Stiles can't really think of anything that's good about this situation, but it'll come to him, he's sure.
His genius plan for the moment is to avoid Derek.
He tosses up the merits of prolonged exposure versus no exposure (or facing the problem versus hiding from it, whatever) and decides to go for no exposure, because his brain definitely needs time to deal with the overload of hotness. Or something.
(That, or he's a total pussy. He likes to think he sees things with a positive spin though.)
Anyway, it's working okay. He begs out of the next pack meeting slash getting Jackson trained up citing a homework overload, and the one after that because he decides to institute Stilinski family night.
He thinks it's pretty genius, actually, like, he's avoiding Derek and bonding with his dad. Two for one.
The one thing he doesn't factor into it is that Derek is a creepy creepster who creeps, which is why he shrieks like a girl when he switches on the light in his bedroom once he's finished the movie with his dad and Derek is there, standing with his arms crossed in front of Stiles' window like it's a totally normal thing for him to be doing.
Which it sort of is, actually. Hence the whole creepy thing.
Possibly he should start focusing on that to distract from all the physical attractiveness slapping him in the face.
Except that he totally doesn't mind the creepiness, if he's being honest. Like, it's kind of endearing.
Yeah, he doesn't know what's wrong with him either.
"What the hell," he hisses, "Are you doing here?"
Derek watches him all stoic for a moment, then says, "You weren't at the meeting today."
"I know," says Stiles. "That doesn't answer my question, dude."
Derek looks a bit pained. "I'm the Alpha," he says, and then stops.
"Um," says Stiles. "I…know? I mean, I was there when it happened, so I don't know why you'd think I didn't notice. It was kind of hard to miss. Or forget, if that's what you're thinking."
"Shut up, Stiles," says Derek. "I'm the Alpha, which means it's my job to keep the pack together."
"Well, sort of," says Stiles, and then, at Derek's Look, "No, okay, totally, carry on."
"You weren't at the meeting," says Derek again. "Is there a problem?"
"No!" says Stiles. "No problem. It was Stilinski family night, that's all, didn't Scott tell you? And anyway, I'm a bit useless at those meetings, so it's not a big deal or anything, right?"
Derek looks even more pained. "You're not a werewolf, Stiles," he says, "But you're still pack."
"Um, okay," says Stiles. "I-- that's-- okay, but there's still no problem. I was just-- my dad, you know."
Derek looks at him, long and assessing. Stiles tries not to fidget or blush or look away.
"Okay," says Derek eventually.
"Really?" says Stiles.
Derek rolls his eyes and nods. "No skipping out on any more though," he says.
"Ugh, fine," says Stiles.
Derek gives him a weird look before he vaults out of the window.
Stiles shuts it and waits an appropriate length of precautionary time before he says, "Fuck," vehemently.
"You know what I've realised?" he says to Scott. "I can't even ask anyone for advice, because literally everyone I know is the worst at dealing with their feelings."
"Hey," says Scott. "I'm not that bad."
"Really?" says Stiles, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, I love you, buddy, but watching you pretty much go nuts over Allison is right up there in the top ten most horrific experiences of my life."
"Shut up," says Scott. "I'm okay now, aren't I?"
"Yeah, no thanks to you," says Stiles.
Scott elbows him, then says, "So what are you going to do about Derek?"
"Nothing," says Stiles. "Genius, right?"
"Um," says Scott. "Are you being sarcastic?"
"No." Stiles rolls his eyes. "I mean, avoiding him didn't work, he totally caught me out-- no thanks to you, by the way, I still maintain if you were a better liar that wouldn't've happened-- "
"Hey, he's a freaking Alpha werewolf, it's kind of hard to hide things from him-- "
"Anyway," says Stiles loudly, "I've decided I'm just going to ignore it until it goes away."
"Solid plan, dude," says Scott.
"Are you being sarcastic?" says Stiles.
"Yeah, you like it now, bitch?" Scott gives him one of his stupid goofy grins.
"Why," says Stiles to the ceiling, "Why am I surrounded by emotionally-crippled lunatics?"
"Hey, you're an emotionally crippled-- "
"I know, I know, jeez," says Stiles. "No need to rub it in, dude."
Stiles goes to the next pack meeting. He announces his presence by grinning manically at Derek and saying, "Hi! I'm here, see, totally in attendance, no need to creep out on me again."
"Nice job ignoring it, dude," mutters Scott.
"I hate you so much," says Stiles, still grinning like an idiot.
Derek frowns at him, but otherwise doesn't comment.
"Dude, Stiles," says Scott, wandering unannounced into Stiles' room. "I've had, like, a mind-blowing thought."
"Oh God," says Stiles. He spins his chair around and folds his arms and makes a steeling-myself face. "Okay, hit me."
"What if," says Scott, and then pauses dramatically, "What if Derek likes you too?"
Stiles stares blankly at him for a minute, then breaks down into slightly hysterical laughter. "Dude, seriously?" he says when he can speak again.
"No, like, yeah," says Scott. "I mean, do you know he doesn't? Have you asked?"
"No," says Stiles. "I'm a bit too young to die, you know?"
"So you don't know," says Scott triumphantly.
"I don't need him to tell me, oh my God," says Stiles. "Look, dude, I know you're trying to be helpful and that's really sweet, but I'm pretty sure if I'm sure about anything it's that Derek isn't into me."
Scott drops onto the edge of his bed, deflated. "Well, I still think you should ask," he says morosely.
"Why are you more depressed about this than me?" says Stiles.
"You're my best friend," says Scott, shrugging. "I, like, want things to work out for you."
"Aw," says Stiles. "Should we hug?"
"No," says Scott.
"I'm gonna hug you," says Stiles.
"Don't," says Scott. "Seriously, Stiles-- ugh." Stiles grins triumphantly through a mouthful of Scott's hair and hugs his head from where he's tackled him back onto the bed.
"Good talk, bro," he says, climbing up eventually and thumping Scott's shoulder.
"You're such a weirdo," says Scott, grinning.
Stiles seriously revaluates the whole best friends with Scott thing though, the next time they're all together and Scott looks innocently up from his takeout and says, "Hey, Derek, I like your hair."
Everyone looks at him. Stiles just gapes like a moron, because, well, seriously?
"What?" growls Derek.
"You grew it, right?" says Scott.
"You didn't notice when I got a haircut," says Allison.
Scott shrugs and looks back down at his food. "I'm just saying," he says.
"Oh-kay," says Lydia.
Stiles starts a list in his head of ways he could murder Scott.
"Dude, what the hell was that?" Stiles hisses to him later.
"I was just trying to help," says Scott, shrugging.
"How," says Stiles, "How was that supposed to help? Was the next thing you were going to say oh hey Derek, I really like your hair, but I only noticed it because Stiles did and Stiles only noticed it because he has a giant stupid crush on you-- seriously? Seriously?"
"Dude, relax," says Scott. "I was just, like, bringing it up."
"Well, it's brought up now, definitely," says Stiles.
"Right, so you can roll with it now, yeah?"
"I." Stiles opens and closes his mouth. "That's not-- I can't roll with that. There will be no rolling, okay."
"Chicken," says Scott.
"Oh my God, are you five?" says Stiles. "This isn't about-- I'm being sensible. Practical."
"You're not sensible or practical though," says Scott. "It's a totally stupid plan."
"You're a totally stupid plan," says Stiles ridiculously.
"Sure thing, buddy," says Scott.
So this Derek thing is apparently messing with Stiles' higher functions, because another thing he's totally failed to remember is that Derek has a chest and all these muscles and that they're visible when he takes his shirt off.
Which is a really worrying thing to forget, because Derek takes his shirt off all the time.
It's not even a situation of imminent danger slash death, which would actually be preferable because then maybe he'd have something to distract him from all that skin.
They're just lounging around in front of Derek's house-- or well, Stiles, Allison and Lydia are lounging while everyone else takes part in some kind of drill cum baseball game-- and then oh, hey, there goes Derek's shirt.
Stiles just-- he can't deal, okay, not right now, he's had a long day and a fight with his dad about food of all stupid things, and. Yeah.
"I have to go," he says, springing to his feet and knocking Lydia's coffee to the ground.
"What?" says Allison. "But we're getting takeout."
"Yeah, I'm not-- I'm not hungry," Stiles lies. "My dad, I promised-- I have to go."
He makes a run for it before anyone can say anything else, and everyone's totally distracted by the physical activity so he thinks he's in the clear and is just unlocking his Jeep when Derek says, "Stiles, what the hell."
Stiles swears and drops his keys.
"What?" he says, turning around, and oh God, Derek's still shirtless.
"I told you not to skip out on any more meetings," says Derek, folding his arms.
"I'm not skipping, you can't call it skipping if I came, dude, I'm just-- leaving early."
"Why are you leaving early?" says Derek, frowning.
"Because I have to-- my dad, and, and homework, and-- will you put a shirt on, for the love of God." He winds up pretty much shouting, great. It feels a lot like he's lost control of his entire life.
"My shirt's at the house," says Derek, looking down at himself like he doesn't even know he has that chest, which. Wouldn't that be nice, Jesus.
"Yeah, well, go back to it," says Stiles, tugging the driver side door open.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" says Derek, stepping closer and putting a hand on the door to stop Stiles getting it all the way open.
"Nothing," Stiles grits out. "I'm fine, if you'd just-- let me go, jeez."
"No," says Derek.
"No?" echoes Stiles. "No? What kind of answer is that?"
"It's no," says Derek, low and threatening.
"Okay," says Stiles, tipping his head back and widening his eyes beseechingly at the sky. "Well, I'm just going to stay here and wait for you to let go of my car, how does that sound?"
"Really freaking stupid," says Derek.
"What do you want me to do then?" says Stiles, a little desperately.
"Come back to the house," says Derek, "Or tell me what's going on with you."
"I-- you-- fine," sputters Stiles. "Just remember you asked for it, okay, so you're not allowed to rip my throat out or anything."
"Why would I-- " starts Derek, and then he stops, probably not because he actually wants to, but because Stiles lurches in and kisses him.
Stiles has never kissed anyone before, and obviously he's never kissed Derek, and this is probably the only time he'll get to do that, so he tries to like, put everything into it, pressing in firm and opening his mouth and maybe even biting a little bit.
When he pulls back, breathing hard-- part adrenaline and part pure oh my God-- he says, "Okay, so that's-- that's what's up. Now please let me go home and die of embarrassment in peace."
He tries to squeeze himself through the tiny gap of open door into his car.
Derek stops him with a hand clamped down, bruising, on his bicep.
"What, what," says Stiles. "Don't kill me, okay, I won't-- I won't do it again, obviously."
"You talk so freaking much," says Derek. "Do you actually know how to use words at all?"
"What?" says Stiles.
Derek rolls his eyes and leans in, and for a second Stiles goes blank with panic because he thinks Derek's actually going to rip his throat out, except then, holy shit, Derek's kissing him.
It's better this time, partly because they're both active participants-- like, Stiles' brain is short-circuiting and all but he's not stupid, if Derek is crazy enough to kiss him of his own free will then he's going to kiss back, it's like a rule-- and partly because Derek, it turns out, is a really amazing kisser. Which, yeah, figures. It's probably impossible to look like that and not be.
He manoeuvres Stiles around so he's pressed against the outside of the door and slides one huge, hot hand up to splay over Stiles' jaw and just opens him up so fucking thorough, tugging Stiles' lips apart with his teeth and licking inside his mouth and bearing into him with his body made entirely of muscle and smooth skin and like, pure hotness.
"Oh my God," says Stiles when Derek finally lets him up to breathe.
Derek ducks his head to bite Stiles' neck and then hum into his skin.
"I," says Stiles. "Shit, I-- really?"
Derek looks up at that. "You're an idiot," he says.
"Wait, why am I the idiot?" says Stiles. "Couldn't you, like, tell? Like, your werewolf senses pick up on that stuff, right?"
"I-- not really," says Derek. "You're kind of hard to read."
"Seriously?" says Stiles. "Me? Hard to read?"
Derek looks pained, like it's some kind of massive let-down that he can't make sense of Stiles. "You're-- you don't stay in one place," he says. "At all. Physically or emotionally or-- even your heartbeat, it's. Hard to read." He shrugs minutely.
"Oh my God," says Stiles. "This is like-- this is totally Twilight, like, you're the freaky supernatural creature who knows what everyone's thinking except for me."
"Stop talking," says Derek, and kisses him again, hotter and wetter and harder than before, if that's even possible, which. Apparently it is, wow.
"Scott was right," says Stiles dazedly when Derek lets up again. "I can't believe Scott was right, ugh."
"What?" says Derek, frowning.
"Nothing," says Stiles. "Kissing, that's a thing, there should be more kissing, come on."
"We have to get back to the house," says Derek.
"I don't want to go back to the house," says Stiles childishly.
Derek smirks a little. "Why not?" he says. "You're staying the night."
"I." Stiles swallows. "I am?"
Derek doesn't answer, just tugs Stiles away from the Jeep and pushes him back towards the house with a hand on his back.
Stiles goes easily because yeah, not stupid. It's a pretty huge relief.