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"You're just as handsome as Derek said you were."
Talia had beamed and pulled Stiles into an unexpected hug, and she had laughed. A warm, delighted laugh. Because Derek finally had done something right. He'd finally managed to bring someone home that wasn't going to try to kill his entire family or murder half of Beacon Hills.
Except that he hadn't.
He hadn't, and the sound of that pleased, happy laughter rang hollow in his ears all through dinner, and all the way out onto the back porch. It had almost followed him into the Preserve for a wild, unhappy run, but Stiles had come out to find him before he even got his boots off.
He was holding a slice of cake on one of the dessert plates. The same dessert plates Derek and his siblings and all his cousins were forbidden from taking outside the dining room. Of course his mother would make an exception for Stiles.
Stiles sets the plate in Derek's lap. "You fled before dessert, big guy."
Derek stared down at the cake, mostly so he didn't have to look at Stiles. It's German chocolate. His favorite. Talia had ordered three different kinds of cake for this dinner, and two pies, but Stiles had brought out his favorite. "There's no fork."
Stiles dropped onto the step next to him. "Okay, first of all, who eats cake with a fork, you weirdo? They're all pointy. Use a spoon." Stiles huffed. "You do know the good things in life don't always have to hurt you, right?"
(Derek clearly does not know that.)
"And second," Stiles went on, "I figured you were in the mood to just shovel it into your face with both hands."
Derek growled at him.
"Kidding," protested Stiles. He pulled a spoon out of his jacket pocket. "Here you go, you big baby."
Derek spooned way too much cake into his mouth. It was the perfect excuse not to talk.
He could feel Stiles roll his eyes. He also felt Stiles' shoulder bump into his. "Dude, there's no reason to be embarrassed. I talk about how handsome you are literally all the time."
It's true. Last week they'd been buying road snacks somewhere in Montana and Stiles had struck up a lively conversation with the elderly cashier while she rang up three different flavors of Doritos. Stiles had grabbed Derek's face out of nowhere, squeezed his cheeks, and cried, "Just look at this man. Can you believe he's still single?"
Derek had never called Stiles handsome to his face, but it wouldn't have been the worst thing in the world. Sitting next to him, with the warm glow from the house leaking through the screen door and lighting up his cheeks, with his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar and his tie lost somewhere or maybe crammed carelessly into a pocket, Stiles was an objectively handsome man.
Derek wasn't sitting out here, huddled in shame, just because Stiles now had verbal confirmation that Derek's eyes worked.
He swallowed. Fuck it. Maybe if he just told Stiles, Stiles would think of a way to fix this. Stiles was good at talking his way out of things. Talking their way out of things.
"She thinks we're dating," Derek mumbled.
Stiles tensed up next to him. "What? Sorry, but we don't all have super hearing."
Derek set down his spoon. "My mother," he said, audibly this time, "thinks we're in a romantic relationship. She thinks we've been dating for-" months? a year? Derek didn't even know, "-a while."
There was a sharp hiss of air and Stiles leaned just slightly away. Derek wanted to follow him, to chase his warmth and his scent. He gripped the sides of the dessert plate instead, and told himself to sit still.
"Wow," sighed Stiles. "That, uh." He scratched his head. "That explains a lot. Oh god, I left her in there with my dad. And Scott. Jesus, they're probably picking wedding colors right now."
Derek rubbed his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Stiles. I'll talk to her. I'll even talk to your dad, if you want-"
"Whoa, slow down, big guy. Don't hurt yourself." Stiles wrapped his arms around his knees. He laughed, and it sounded like his usual laugh, but Derek could hear the irregular stutter of his heart. "We can explain together. I mean, it should be easy enough to clear up. I can't believe Talia Hale thought I could seduce her son just because he said a few nice things about my weird face."
Derek gritted his teeth. This. This was the humiliating part. The part where Stiles figured that Derek was -
"I said . . . more than that. I . . . I talk about you a lot. I guess."
"You guess?" Stiles scooted back over. He elbowed Derek in the ribs.
"Ow."
"Yeah, right." Derek still couldn't look at him. He kept staring at what was left of his cake. But Stiles smelled . . . amused? Thoughtful? Excited?
"You talk about me so much that your mom thinks we're practically engaged." Derek could hear him grinning.
"Don't-"
"Would that be so bad?"
Derek stiffened. "What?"
Stiles stared straight ahead. "When I was in the kitchen, getting you that cake, Talia came up and kind of cornered me? She had a lot to say. About, uh. About how I was taking such good care of you." Stiles swallowed. His voice quavered into a higher octave. "She said I make you happier than she's seen you look in years."
His plate was going to shatter in Derek's hands. He could picture frosting going everywhere, a shard of porcelain flying out and gashing Stiles across the cheekbone, barely missing his eye, Derek hurting something he never should have touched again -
"Is that true?" Stiles' voice was small, and tight, and that's what gave it the strength to drag the truth out of Derek.
He said it through clenched teeth, but he said it. "Yes."
"Huh," said Stiles. He fidgeted, and took a long, slow breath. "Well, newsflash, Der: you make me happy, too."
Derek had been poised to begin spiraling in earnest, but that snapped him out of it. He turned, and attempted eye contact with Stiles for the first time all evening. (Or at least since his mother had started talking.)
Stiles was looking right back. His eyes were wide and his cheeks were flushed and his mouth was drawn into an anxious, narrow line. Derek wanted to kiss it.
So he did.
He surged forward, and pressed his mouth against Stiles'. Stiles kissed him back, softly, chastely, but fervently, again and again and again-
And then he pulled back, laughing. "So you would date me."
"Stiles." Derek almost flinched at the sound of his own voice. He sounded broken. "I. Yes. Please-"
Stiles beamed at him, murmured, "Okay," and kissed the tip of Derek's nose.
Derek retaliated. He held Stiles' face and kissed him everywhere: nose, forehead, cheeks, chin, eyelids. His mouth. His mouth again. And again. They kissed until Derek lost track of everything but Stiles, Stiles, Stiles, the smell and the taste and the sound of -
-the sound of porcelain breaking. The dessert plate had fallen off Derek's lap and crashed into the bottom step. It had broken into at least a dozen pieces. Derek stared at it in horror.
"We'll clean it up later." Stiles leaned in for another kiss. Derek held him back.
"Our grandmother gave her those plates. They were part of her dowry. She's going to kill me."
"We'll have to get engaged for real," Stiles suggested, pressing a kiss to the corner of Derek's mouth. "That'll distract her."
"Stiles. This is serious."
"It's okay, baby; it was my fault and she likes me-"
Talia's voice broke in. "Derek? Did I hear something break out there?"
Stiles bolted up. He grabbed Derek's hand and dragged him off the porch. "C'mon! Let's run for it."
Derek would have followed him anywhere.
So he did.