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“What’s buzzin, cuzzin?” Echoes down the hallway, so that all heads turn towards the source of the sound. Unsurprisingly, it’s Genim “Stiles” Stilinski, resident nerd who’s always trying to be too cool. Derek smirks, cigarette tight between his fingers and smoke slowly slipping from his lips as kids laugh and stare and point at Stiles as he walks by. The kid is the Sheriff’s son, which basically makes him off limits to anyone—no one wants to get busted with booze or making out in places they shouldn’t be. He’s a loner, with one friend who’s basically ditched him for the new girl.
Derek would feel bad for him, but figures the rest of his crew wouldn’t take too kindly to him getting friendly with the fream. Instead he flicks his cigarette to the ground and stamps it out with his boot. He elbows Jackson hard in the ribs when he’s been laughing too hard, making them look bad.
“Chill, it’s just Stilinski, you don’t gotta go ape.” Derek snaps, pushing off the from wall to lead his crew, consisting of Jackson, Boyd, Isaac, and their girls who’s names Derek never remembers, into the school. Jackson looks sour about it, but he doesn’t argue—no one argues with Derek.
Stiles is at his locker, fumbling with the lock to open it, and he practically shoves himself inside trying to get all his books. Derek smirks, reaching out to shove him in a little more before waltzing off to class. Jackson cheers—quelling the sound with another glare from Derek—and Boyd smirks as they pass.
The only problem with not feeling sorry for the runt is the fact that him and Derek have almost every class together. First is English, which Derek hardly takes the time to show up for anyways, but today seems like a good day. (It isn’t, he learns, cuz the teacher-chick is seriously frosted and slams them with a pop quiz.)
The only saving grace is that it’s a partner quiz, and fream or not, Derek knows Stiles is the smartest kid in class—makes it a little more worthwhile being stuck sitting beside him. Stiles grins, all bright red cheeks and stupid Buddy Holly glasses; he wears too much plaid for someone who isn’t a textbook poindexter. The kid could be cool if he tried: dressed better, let his hair grow out, ditched the glasses and maybe stood up to his old man for once. But he won’t, and that’s just life, Derek figures.
Stiles does all the work, and tells Derek what to write down in hushed tones. Derek does it like a machine, he doesn’t take in a word that Stiles’ said because he’s suddenly focused on the way that Stiles’ lips move, slim and fast, a mile a minute. But Derek writes it all down for them, since Stiles’ handwriting looks like a spaz blind-folded in the dark
When the teacher collects their tests, her mood improves considerably. She sits to grade them, smiling the whole time, and leaves them to their own devices.
Derek leans back, balancing himself on the two back legs of his chair, hands resting on his neck. Stiles doodles in his notebook, glasses sliding down his nose.
Derek coughs to get his attention, but Stiles isn’t face.
“Hey, Stilinski,”
He jumps and looks at Derek. “Uh, yeah?”
“Those peepers, they for real?”
Stiles’ hands comes up instantly to touch the thick black frames. His mouth draws in unhappy lines and he nods. “Yeah.” He returns to his doodling. Derek opens his mouth, but closes it when he realizes he doesn’t have anything to say that won’t just offend Stiles more.
)
Second and third period go the same way; Stiles saves Derek’s ass academically, and Derek manages to insult him without totally meaning to.
By the time lunch is over, Derek’s got a plan.
)
Fourth is gym, which Derek excels at only because he was born as boss athlete. He watches, downing some water, as Stiles tries to keep up with the rest of the kids running laps. He falls behind fast, and Derek knows it’s cuz he’s got a terrible running form. He smirks, and tosses his water bottle away in favor of jogging over to where Stiles has slowed to a meek and pathetic jog.
“Ey, Stilinksi,” the kid jumps again. Derek nudges him, jogging ahead by a few feet. “You can’t be beat already, you’ve only done a lap.”
“Two laps,” Stiles retorts, catching up so that he’s a only a step or two behind Derek.
“C’mon.”
Stiles shakes his head, breathing hard, “cut out.”
Derek slows. “No.” He stops and grabs Stiles by the arm. Stiles doesn’t fight him. “C’mon, we’ll take it easy.” He jerks his head, and Stiles catches his breath for a moment before nodding.
“Fine.”
)
Afterwards, in the lock room, Stiles nods curtly to Derek. “Thanks,”
“No sweat,” Derek replies, uncaring as he peels off his gym shirt, and as eyes fall on him talking to Stilinski.
Stiles nods again, and looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t. Instead he retreats to his own locker, and their changing passes without incident.
)
Derek stays quiet until seventh period. Stiles is falling asleep—which isn’t unusual cuz the history teacher is boring and drones on and on and doesn’t care if people listen or not—so Derek nudges him. Stiles blinks sleepily, a light glare and his glasses askew in a way that only encourages Derek’s plan. He tosses Stiles a note, folded into a simple square.
Stiles holds in it his hands and Derek can see that he’s shaking.
In the same neatly slanted scrawl as their pop text earlier that morning, Derek’s scribbled a message on basically the only piece of notebook paper he had. (And even then, he had grabbed it from Stiles’ binder during fifth.)
Wanna hang?
Stiles stares at the paper, then looks at Derek, and goes back and forth before Derek groans and points at the paper again.
Stiles gulps and nods, grabbing his pencil and writing down a messy response.
Okay
Derek’s barely got it back on his desk before he’s answering back. He flicks it back to Stiles, hitting him between the eyes.
After this, meet me at the chariot
Stiles nods, and tucks the note into the pocket of his plaid overshirt. Derek doesn’t give himself a chance to reject his decision, and instead settles down for the last decade of class to be over.
)
Stiles stands outside the class, looking hopefully at Derek as he slouches out of class. “So, uh, where we gonna hang?”
“Big Daddy’s sound alright?” Derek jerks his head towards the school entrance.
Stiles nods. “Righto.”
“I just gotta tell the pups to scram, I’ll be right there. You know which machine it is, right?”
Stiles looks out to the parking lot. “Ah…”
Derek grins. “The red Buick Roadmaster.” He points and Stiles follows the direction, then nods.
“Okay.” Stiles waves and Derek bites back a laugh. He turns and hurries down the steps of the school to where, like everyday, his crew is waiting.
“Hey, I’m gonna split.” Derek jerks his head, again, to the parking lot. “Gotta date.”
Jackson perks up, as does the girl on his arm. “Yeah? She fast? A dolly?”
Derek glares him down. “They’re cool, alright?” He nods to each of them, then turns and walks away. He half expects Jackson to lead the charge of them following, but no such thing happens, and for once he’s thankful that Jackson isn’t a complete moron.
He slams the door on the driver’s side, and reaches over to unlock the passenger’s door. Stiles stumbles in, tossing his backpack in the back.
They’re driving along, almost to the diner, when Stiles pipes up. “So, what brought this on?”
Derek taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “You’re cool,” he tells Stiles, just like he told Jackson. He pulls into a parking spot with a bit more care than when he’s out with the crew. Derek gets out of the car barely seconds after the car’s off. Stiles is still fumbling with the seat belt when Derek opens the door for him.
Stiles freezes, then slowly climbs out of the car. He grins sheepishly. Derek extends his arm and Stiles leads the way into Big Daddy’s—though Derek does hold the door open.
The place is, like usual, somewhat crowded. Kids from their school as well as other schools are around. Some wave at Derek, and he either ignores them or nods back. Derek nods to a table in the back, and they sits across from each other. Derek grins and Stiles flushes a light pink, but smiles back. “What’re you gonna get?”
“I’m a burger man.” Derek replies.
“Who isn’t?” Stiles asks, laughing lightly, peering at the menu.
The waitress, in a pale pink dress with brighter pink hair, leans over their table and smiles at them. “Well isn’t this just the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” she coos. “What can I getcha, boys?”
“Two burgers and a large fry, and a shake.” Derek says, plucking the menu from Stiles’ hand and handing it to the waitress.
Stiles makes a small noise of protest, and Derek lifts a brow.
“Make that two milkshakes.” He tells the waitress, and then Stiles looks pleased again. The waitress nods, writes down their order, and skips off to the kitchen.
The food gets back to them fast, despite business picking up as it turns to early evening. They eat in relative silence, aside from a few kids from school who come over to say hi to Derek, and Scott—Stiles’ friend that ditched him—hurries over really quick to say hi.
“What’s with that?” Derek asks, setting down his burger wrapper.
“What’s with what?”
“McCall.”
“Oh, well. Alison.” Stiles shrugs, taking a deep sip of his milkshake. “S’not a big sweat, it’s kind of lame, but whatever.”
Derek glares at his shake as though the shake is to blame. Stiles nudges him with his foot, and grins.
“This is nice.” He says, reaching for a fry. Derek’s so focused on Stiles’ grin that he doesn’t realize they’re reaching for the basket of fries at the same time—until it’s too late, and their hands rest together, fingers almost linked, on top a pile of deliciously greasy potatoes.
Derek smirks, and takes Stiles’ hand and holds it to the side of the fries.
“You aren’t scared you’re gonna get cooties?” Stiles asks, unsure.
“You’re too cool for cooties.” Derek replies sincerely.
Stiles laughs, throwing his head back. “You’re unreal.”
Derek grins, and holds his hand for the rest of the date.
)
Beacon Hills is a small town, a tight knit town, and word travels faster than California wild fires at Beacon Hills High School. Derek isn’t really surprised when he rolls up to school and sees Jackson and the crew standing, waiting for him, tense. He climbs off his motorcycle, helmet tucked under his arm, and approaches them.
“Hey.”
“When you’d become a goof, Hale?” Jackson asks, stepping out of the group towards Derek.
He sneers. “Don’t have a cow.”
“I’ll have a cow if I want to!” Jackson shouts back, though Derek hadn’t raised his voice a bit. “Since when are you going on dates with a nerd? WithStilinski?”
Derek shoves at Jackson’s shoulder. “Back off, Whittemore. You don’t have any reason to put down Stiles.”
Jackson doesn’t back down, though. “’Cept I do! He’s gonna make you soft! Next thing we know you’ll be circled or something!”
Derek rolls his eyes, and Jackson’s girlfriend—or current squeeze—actually laughs. “He’s cool, alright?” He tells them just like the day of the date. “You don’t like it, you don’t gotta stay in our orbit. You don’t have to hang around us, that’s fine.” Derek takes a step forward and Jackson falls back into the crew. “We clear? You dig?”
“I dig,” Boyd says nodding at Derek. “Issac and me, we don’t care.”
Derek grins, and their girlfriends share their sentiments. Jackson looks to his girl, and she scoffs.
“I don’t care, I’m just in it for the jacket.” To make her point, she tugs the jacket closer before reapplying her lipstick.
Jackson looks desperately at the crew, but his expression crumples. “Fine, whatever.”
Derek isn’t entirely pleased with the answer, but he’ll take it. Bidding his friends goodbye, he turns just in time to see Stiles walk into the school. He hurries to catch up, and swings his arm across Stiles’ shoulder. “What’s buzzin, cuzzin?” He asks with a smile, ignoring the blatant stares.
Stiles doesn’t so much as flinch as Derek crowds his personal bubble. “Nothin’ much.” Derek steers them to Stiles’ locker. “So, about last week—?” The date, which had ended in an awkward but sweet goodnight hug on the Stilinski family doorstep.
“Yeah?”
“It was pretty hip.”
“It was fat city, for sure.” Derek replies. “You down to do it again?”
Stiles grins pinkly and ducks his face into the locker. “Sure.” Derek laughs, and it makes Stiles perk up. He looks into Derek’s eyes and laughs too. “When and where?”
“Tomorrow night,” Friday, the perfect night. “We can hit the passion pit.”
Stiles shivers, blushing even brighter and closing his locker for something to do. “Totally, sounds rad.” Stiles grabs Derek’s hand an drags him to first period, and squeaks when Derek catches him off guard with a kiss to the temple.
)
“M’going out dad!”
“Where?” His dad calls from the kitchen, slaving over paper work on the latest case.
“To catch a flick!”
“With who? Did Scott finally come around?”
Stiles stops, hand on the doorknob of the front door. He swallows, nervous.
“Well?”
“Uh, with my boyfriend.”
There’s a thud and Stiles figures the plastic coffee mug just fell to the floor. A scratch of wood on tile tells Stiles that his dad has just stood up, and is rapidly approaching Stiles at the door. “Boyfriend?” He asks, not angry but merely curious.
“Uh, yeah. Remember last week when I was out late at Big Daddy’s?”
“No, because I was late at the station.”
Stiles nods. “Right, yeah, oops. Well uh I got asked to hang. And it turned into a date. And we’re going steady, I guess.” He slowly dissolved into a mumble. His dad grins, shaking his head.
“Do I get to meet this mystery man?”
Stiles’ eyes flicker to the door. He hadn’t yet discussed how serious this was, and how family would play into their relationship. He wasn’t even sure if what he and Derek had could be called “going steady.” Maybe that was just Stiles being hopeful.
Giving him no more time to stall, there’s a knock at the door. Stiles jumps almost a foot in the air before wrenching the door open. “Derek!”
“Hey, Stiles. Ready to.. go..?” Derek looks past Stiles right to his dad. “Sheriff.”
“Hello Derek.”
Stiles looks between the men—he knows that Derek has had his fair share of mishaps with the police. Weed, smoking, booze, nothing serious but he wasn’t exactly a goody two shoes.
“You treating my son right?”
“Wouldn’t dream of treating him any other way.”
Stiles shuffles to the side to let his dad and Derek stand face to face. “I don’t want my son coming home and complaining that you got too—”
“Dad!” Stiles cries out, indignant, “he’s totally earthbound, sheesh!”
Mr. Stilinski grins, and steps back. “Alright. Don’t stay out too late. Don’t do anything you wouldn’t be able to explain to your mother.”
Stiles rolls his eyes and pushes past his dad to the doorstep with Derek. “See you later dad!”
“Be careful!”
Stiles is shaking his head and laughing once his dad has shut the door. “Sorry about that, he’s kind of square.”
“I see where you get it from.”
Stiles pouts, and Derek laughs.
“I like squares.”
Stiles brightens, before his face goes completely pale at the sight of their ride. “Uh.”
“It’s safe,” Derek says, grabbing one of the two helmets and tossing it to Stiles—who almost drops it, but not quite. Stiles looks at it like it’s gonna bite him, and Derek takes it back and places it on Stiles’ head. “It’s safe, we’ll be fine.” He assures, climbing onto the bike and motioning for Stiles to climb on as well.
Stiles does, but he’s shaking and holds Derek tighter than necessary—but Derek isn’t going to tell him to stop. Stiles’ legs feel like jelly by the time he’s off the bike, and Derek has to hold him up a bit before they can get their tickets.
“You sure you don’t wanna bob this date?”
Stiles shakes his head. “No, no.” He looks around. “Why’d you pick the bike?”
“Roadmaster’s in the shop.” He says, simply, leading Stiles up to ticket booth. He pays, wallet leather like the rest of his stuff. “Why? You’d prefer the car?” Derek grins, predatory and shiver-inducing.
“Well, it isn’t quite a drive in without it, huh?”
Derek scans across the parking lot, and smirks. “If you’re sure.” Tickets in hand, they breeze right by Derek’s motorcycle, instead heading towards an ugly yellow Lincoln. The top is partially down, and Jackson is sitting by himself in it. “Jackson, out.”
He looks up. “Hey man what if I’m on a date too?”
“You aren’t. Now split.”
Jackson grumbles angrily all the while, but he heads toward the food stand without actually disagreeing. Derek holds the door open and allows Stiles to slide into the backseat. Derek shuts the convertible top so that it’s just a little harder to see into the car. He climbs in after Stiles, just as he starts to ask “What movie are we seeing, anyways?”
“Dunno, just asked for two tickets.”
There’s weird, high pitching, whiny music that tells Stiles it’s probably another alien movie, but his train of thought is quickly derailed when Derek kisses at his chin and neck.
“This okay?”
Stiles whimpers and nods, turning his head to bare his neck for Derek; he wastes no time and bites, hard, then laves over it with his tongue apologetically. He pins Stiles by the hips and moves to kiss him. Stiles stops him with a gentle shove though.
“Are we.. y’know, going steady?”
Derek raises an eyebrow. “Course.”
“Oh, okay, good, cool, very cool.”
Derek grins, and kisses Stiles’ forehead. “I play for keeps,” he says softly, but it seems achingly loud in the compact space of the car. Stiles grins, and nuzzles back like a cat. “You dig?”
Stiles laughs, “I dig.”
Derek cups Stiles’ face in his hands and kisses him on the lips briefly once, then again, and again until he slips his tongue between Stiles’ lips, swallowing his gasp and plundering his mouth with careful, precise strokes. Stiles continues to gasp and writhe under Derek’s ministrations. His arms curl around Derek’s broad chest, pulling him closer. “I’ve never done this before,” he whispers against Derek’s lips.
“S’okay.” Derek says, “just tell me when to stop.”
Stiles nods, and not once during the movie does he tell Derek to stop.
When the movie rolls to a close, there’s an insistent fist knocking on the window of the car; Jackson is shouting something about cleaning the seats, or paying for the cleaning, or something—Stiles and Derek are both beyond blissed out, flustered and achingly hard in their pants.
The top comes back, and Stiles and Derek clamber out before they can be hit with too man questions or amused stares. They hurry back to the bike, and Stiles seems to have no fear as he saddles on behind Derek. He grips just as tight, though Derek knows it’s for an entirely different reason. Derek pulls up alongside the curb outside the Stilinski house.
“So, uh.” Stiles climbs off. “See you tomorrow?”
Derek leans in for a kiss, and Stiles is happy to oblige, despite the fact he’s pretty sure his dad is watching from the window. Softly, so that no one but them could ever head, Stiles whispers.
“My window will be open, okay?”
Derek grins and pretends to bite at Stiles’ lips. “I’ll be there,”
“Or be square,” Stiles says, laughing. They kiss one more time, chaste and fast, before Stiles is hurrying into the house.
“How was the date?” His dad asks, and Stiles barely spares time to answer with “totally radical!” before he’s up the stairs and in bed. His dad follows, though, never one to just take a hint. “Really? What movie did you see?” He asks, though Stiles has shut the bedroom door in the face.
“Uh, one about aliens.” Stiles pictures his dad nodding. “It was really fun, and we’re totally going steady, and I think I’m gone.”
His dad laughs. “Good for you, kiddo. I’m going to bed, alright?”
“Righto, Daddy-O.” His dad laughs, but heads to his room.
Stiles strips down to a t shirt and boxer-briefs, then climbs into bed, nerves on fire and tingling and making him anxious.
He answers in hushed tones when there’s a knock on his window, “come in.” Derek creeps in and peels off his leather jacket, throwing it onto a chair.
“Hey,”
“Ready to pick up where we left off?”
“My pleasure,” Derek growls, nipping at Stiles’ lips as he rolls them over.