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“It’s your turn,” Derek thrusts the baby at Stiles as soon as they leave the classroom.
His ears are still ringing from the fifteen dolls crying all at once; his face cooling from the mortification of Finstock passing him one of the babies, pointing at Stiles and saying, “Congrats, Stilinski, you knocked up Hale here, go nuts.”
“What? You’ve had her for all of five seconds, dude, and I have math, next! Math. No child wants to sit through that.”
“She’s not real, Stiles.”
“She is this week, Derek,” Stiles brandishes the baby in Derek’s face, “Look into her eyes, into sweet Mary Jane’s eyes and tell her you don’t want her, man.”
“I’m not— wait, you already named her? Mary Jane?”
Stiles shrugs, “It’s a classic.”
“Fine,” Derek rolls his eyes, “I’ll take her to the library, but you have to keep her when I have practise, later.”
“Of course,” Stiles smirks at the silent doll, “We’ll come and cheer daddy on, won’t we?!”
Derek grunts, “Don’t call me that, ever.”
“You wanna be papa?”
“No, I’m Derek, I am not this baby’s father!”
As if hearing his cruel, callous words, Mary Jane begins wailing, and Stiles ducks under Derek’s arms to dart down the hall.
"Gotta go, can’t be tardy! Feel better, MJ!”
“Stiles!” Derek holds the baby away from himself by one ankle, just as Allison and Lydia come through the door, cooing at their own baby. They both pause to give him matching disdainful once overs.
“Amateur,” Lydia murmurs smugly.
“Some people just aren’t cut out for babies,” Allison adds teasingly.
Derek scowls after them, looks back at the baby, “What? What is wrong with you?”
The baby cries louder.
“Uh, hush?” There’s no response. Derek tries to pretend he isn’t beginning to sweat.
“Do you want food? Is it food time?” Derek tips the baby upside down to check, and she screeches.
Mr Harris leans out of his classroom, glares at Derek, “Take the lesson in conception somewhere else, Hale.”
Derek winces, both at the admonishment and the baby’s cries. He cannot take her to the library when she’s like this.
“Okay, uh,” he hoists her up onto his shoulder, pats her back awkwardly, “There, there?”
The baby makes a weird robotic hiccupping sound, and stops crying.
“That’s it?” He pulls back to eye the doll, “You just needed a hug?”
Mary Jane stares blankly back at him. Derek sighs when he realises he’s already accepted fucking Mary Jane as her name. His mother will totally get the wrong reference— she’ll think Derek has gotten himself paired up with a pot head rather than a comic book nerd— and he’ll be grounded for a month.
*
It’s a relief to be on the lacrosse field two tear filled hours later. No baby weighing down his arms, and plenty of idiot freshmen to take out his aggression on.
Case in point; Jackson Whittemore goes down groaning, and Derek hears Stiles cheering from the bleachers. He looks up and Stiles beams at him, waves and half drops the baby in the process.
Derek rolls his eyes, turns away and squares his shoulders. He tries very hard not to think about how awkwardly adorable Stiles’ interactions with the baby are, or about the weird flip his stomach does every time he hears Stiles’ shouts of praise. Stiles has been their team’s token cheerleader ever since McCall made first line last season. Derek shouldn’t be distracted just because it was specifically aimed at him; he’s only doing it to wind Derek up because of the baby.
“Yay, daddy Hale!” Stiles crows.
Derek flips him off.
“Hale!” Finstock yells, “That is no way to respond to your baby daddy’s encouragement!”
The rest of the team fall about laughing, and Derek curses, slaps at his helmet.
“Are we playing lacrosse, or what?”
“Don’t cheek me, kid, you’ve gotta set a good example for your child! Show some respect for your elders!”
Derek snorts, and Finstock grins manically, “How about some suicides until you’ve learnt some manners?”
“Coach—”
“Now!”
Derek huffs, tosses his stick to the side and sets off across the pitch.
“See how the mighty captain of the lacrosse team has been made to fall into line,” Stiles calls out. “Look at how easily he takes direction.”
Derek grits his teeth, tries to ignore him. It’s unfortunate that Stiles makes a rather appealing sight; beaming and waving (like a lunatic), holding a baby and occasionally turning to make faces at it.
“Eyes on the field, Hale!”
Derek snaps his head around to look in front of him, and promptly runs into the goal post.
*
For those curious, a crying baby, an insane amount of chem homework, and a raging headache from running into a metal goal post are not a fun mix. Derek is so tired, and he’s sick of the crying, the damn needy baby demanding his attention every second.
The third time he has to climb out of bed to deal with MJ, he calls Stiles. If he’s missing out on sleep, it seems fair Stiles has to, too.
“Dude,” Stiles croaks down the phone, “This better be a booty call.”
Derek snorts, holds the phone up the crying baby, and Stiles’ groan is audible over her shouts.
“Derek! It’s three am!”
“I’m aware, thank you,” Derek snaps, “But, I have lacrosse practise in the morning and I’ve not had any sleep.”
“So, you want me to sing her a damn lullaby?”
“No, I just think it’s fair that if I have to listen to this, you do as well.”
“You’re a douche,” Stiles snaps, and hangs up the phone.
“Ass,” Derek scowls at his now blank screen, turns back to the crying baby. “I hope you’re okay with having a father that tried to strangle his classmate.”
He stares at her forlornly before sighing and standing up, “Do not tell Stiles about this,” he tells MJ sternly before he strips off his shirt and rests the baby on his chest.
There’s a beat, and then to his surprise the baby doll seems to settle. Derek feels embarrassingly proud of himself.
“See? You’re alright, really,” he murmurs, swaying around the room with her and tiredly trying to read flashes of his chem textbook whenever he passes; he may as well try and squeeze in some studying if he’s going to be awake all god damn night.
He’s so caught up in his study slash dance session that he doesn’t hear the pebbles at the window, or the wily idiot that climbs up the drainpipe, and only realizes Stiles is at his window when he spins and sees him there.
“Fuck!” he shouts in surprise, drops the baby and immediately crouches down beside her. “Jesus, Stiles! You made me drop the kid!”
“I’m sorry!” Stiles rolls through the half open window (uninvited, Derek thinks huffily, and tries to pretend he isn’t mildly panicking about Stiles Stilinski being in his messy bedroom).
Mary Jane is crying again, and Derek scowls across at Stiles who— despite his bravado when scaling the side of someone’s house— is now backed up against the window and looking pained.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Derek hisses. “It’s nearly four in the morning!”
“I can tell time,” Stiles snaps, before drawing in on himself again, “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I felt bad about hanging up, so I came over and when you didn’t come to the window, I don’t know, I guess I panicked.”
“You panicked,” Derek repeats flatly, “So, you climbed up the drainpipe to what, to check on me?”
“Yes! And then there you were, you know, shirtless!”
“I’m sorry, am I supposed to remain fully dressed at all times in case of surprise Stilinski intruder moments?”
“No— yes! Maybe,” Stiles rolls his eyes, shoves his hands in his pockets, “Whatever, why were you… jigging?”
“I wasn’t jigging,” Derek retorts hotly, hoping his cheeks aren’t going red.
“Well, it sure as hell wasn’t dancing.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Derek stands with the baby, prods at her back, “I managed to get her to be quiet, for one god damn minute, and you ruined it!”
Stiles winces, “Sorry, dude.”
Derek rolls his eyes, “I thought it was daddy Hale.”
“Well, if you wanna go with that…” Stiles wiggles his eyebrows, “I could be open to—”
“No! Jesus, both are equally terrible,” Derek glares over at him, “What are you still doing here?”
“I want to help with MJ,” Stiles shrugs, waves a hand at Derek, “Although, I’m not sure about getting naked, in your, uh, in your bedroom,” he coughs loudly and claps his hands together. “Shall I take her for a bit?”
Derek blinks in surprise, arches an eyebrow, “You’re really sticking around?”
“Yeah, you know, what you said was true; both of us should be in this together. Parenting’s an equal partnership and all that.” Stiles drops down on the bed, gives Derek an awkward but adorably hopeful smile, “If that’s cool with you?”
“Uh…”
Derek’s tempted to make him leave— worried Stiles might spot his historical fiction books and tease him, or worse, his dirty laundry— but, instead he finds himself nodding.
He’s always had a weakness for Stiles’ hopeful expression, a weakness for Stiles’ anything if he’s honest with himself. Stiles is sharp and bright, enticing when he talks, and bold with his thoughts and opinions. He’s never been afraid of Derek, or seemed like it phases him when Derek’s too short or terse, not willing to make small talk for the sake of seeming friendly to his peers. Derek’s never had that many friends, preferring to keep his circle close and only to those he trusts. Erica and Boyd don’t judge him for being quiet, or preferring to keep his head down and study, he’s safe with them. Stiles, though, Stiles somehow squirmed through Derek’s defenses. He’s loud and chatty, strange at times, and wild, reckless with the pranks he pulls and the trouble he gets up to. But, Derek likes him all the same. Derek’s never minded Stiles pulling up a seat next to him in class and talking his ear off about male circumcision (though, Derek did draw the line at talking to Stiles about his own experience), or why Stiles finds the undertones in We Wish You a Merry Christmas vaguely threatening. Despite himself, and his own nature, Derek has found himself drawn to Stiles all through highschool.
And, now he’s sitting down next to Stiles on his very own bed, half naked, holding a fake baby, and he’s too chicken, maybe too nervous and embarrassed about the entire situation, to do anything about it.
Stiles clears his throat, flits his eyes over Derek’s shoulders and then makes a gimme gesture with his hands.
“D’you reckon she needs feeding? Is it too early, or too late, even?”
As if his body is remembering what time it is, Derek gives in to a massive yawn, flops back on the bed as Stiles takes MJ.
“Hell if I know.”
“Did you feed her before she went to bed?”
“Duh, I’m not an idiot, and I burped her.”
“I never said you were an idiot,” Stiles retorts.
“It was implied,” Derek huffs, “As if I’m not going to feed the damn thing.”
“I’m sure you’re not supposed to continuously refer to the baby as damned, Derek.”
Derek snorts, opens one eye to give him a halfhearted glare, and is surprised to see Stiles twisted on the bed, looking at him.
There’s a beat where they stare at one another, and then he hunches up a shoulder, manages to tear his gaze away from Stiles and back to the ceiling.
“It’s not going to hurt her feelings.”
“But, it might hurt mine. The baby is half of me,” Stiles makes a pretend pained noise, and Derek reaches out a foot to kick him in the side.
“I thought you were supposed to be taking care of her so I could sleep, dumbass.”
“Do you hear how he talks to us, MJ?” Stiles addresses the doll, “Why won’t he love us?!”
Derek sits up and smacks his pillow over Stiles’ head. Stiles shouts in surprise, starts laughing, and the baby begins to cry again.
They both groan, and Derek is painfully delighted when Stiles falls back on the bed with him, turns to squint at him.
“It’s gonna be a long night.”
*
At some point in the few snatches of sleep Derek gets, he wakes and there’s a heavy arm over his waist. Stiles has rolled into him, and the baby’s squished between them on the pillows; her tiny plastic hand is stuck right into his neck. He can’t bring himself to move, however, and revels in how close Stiles is, how warm and right he feels next to Derek.
*
Derek wishes the one time he’d had Stiles Stilinski in his bedroom, on his bed; it had been just a little more adventurous and exciting. Unfortunately, they both spent the night rocking the baby between them, not the bed, and bickering about whose turn it was to go and find snacks.
MJ falls asleep thirty minutes before they have to leave for school. Stiles bids them both a bleary eyed goodbye, and rolls out the window before Derek’s mother finds them and shit really hits the fan. He’s already text Jackson about skipping lacrosse; and received several furious replies; all of which he’s chosen to ignore.
Derek manages to shower with MJ sitting propped up on the laundry basket, and doesn’t even bother shaving. He’s fairly sure he’s wearing his sweater inside out, and he was too tired to prevent Cora from ruffling his hair before leaving for track training. Derek’ll have the last laugh when she has to do this next year.
He takes heart in the fact that when he arrives at school, everyone else in their class looks terrible, too. Although across the room, Lydia somehow seems as poised as ever, and she and Allison are still giving their doll loving attention. The rest of the students around Derek are either ignoring their dolls, or glaring at them.
“Babycakes!” Stiles bursts into the classroom, winking at Scott as he passes his best friend and sailing over to Derek.
Derek jolts up from resting his head on the desk, gives Stiles a lopsided grin, “Hey.”
“I was talking to the devil kid, but you’re alright, too,” Stiles drops down next to him, “How you doin’?”
“Since I saw you an hour ago?”
“Fine,” Stiles sniffs, folds his arms and pretends to ignore Derek. “I won’t show an interest in my baby daddy and then you can get all mad about that, later. Just can’t please you,” he sighs exaggeratedly.
Derek flicks Stiles’ nose, buries his face back in his arms.
“You taking her today? Or, do you have more ‘math’ you need to save her from?”
Stiles retaliates by prodding him in the side and Derek jumps, thumps him on the arm, “Quit it.”
“Hey, violence in front of the kid, Derek!” Stiles grabs his hand, curls his fingers over Derek’s knuckles, and Derek stops moving altogether. He’s fairly sure he stops breathing.
“Hey, uh,” Stiles wets his lips, peeks over at Derek though his lashes, “I was thinking we could do like… an adult activity, tonight.”
Derek does a double take, and Stiles’ face goes bright red.
“Shit, no! I meant like a family activity! Like… that real adults do with their kids!”
“Oh,” Derek shifts to sit up, tries not to dislodge his hand from where Stiles is still holding it. “Okay, yeah, what were you thinking?”
“I,” Stiles’ eyebrows shoot up, “What, seriously?”
“Yeah,” Derek shrugs and rubs his face, “What’you have in mind?”
“Uh, I didn’t think you’d want to actually…”
“Stiles,” Derek gives him a pointed look, “We’re raising a child together, I think we can deal with hanging out. After everything we’ve been through,” he adds in a simpering voice.
Stiles rolls his eyes, squeezes Derek’s hand until his bones grind.
“Ahhh, Stiles!” Derek yanks his hand away, scowls at him, “Dick.”
Beaming, Stiles sits back in his chair, runs a hand through his hair, “So, it’s a date? With the kid, I mean. We can take her some place nice.”
Derek snorts out a laugh, and Stiles shoves a balled up piece of paper down his sweater.
“Hey, is this on inside out?”
*
Derek finds he misses MJ during class, and he’s almost glad when Stiles hands her over after lacrosse training.
“She been good?”
Stiles gives him a withering look, “Yeah, a real angel. She said your name at lunch, too.”
“She did?”
“Uh huh, it rhymed with loser, no no wait, it was loser. But, she said it like loother,” Stiles lisps.
Derek rolls his eyes, uses his lacrosse stick to poke Stiles with, “Whoops.” Stiles bats him away, and Derek shoves the stick under his arm, takes MJ and balances her on his hip. “So, what time later?”
Stiles scratches the back of his neck, “Well, I thought we could, uh, go to the drive in?”
“The drive in.”
“Yes,” Stiles seems to forget his momentary nervousness, and narrows his eyes, “It’s good wholesome family fun.”
“What movie’s on.”
“Die Hard,” Stiles’ face breaks out into a wide, excitable grin, and Derek smirks.
“Wholesome family fun? Bruce Willis toting a machine gun and cussing yippee ki yay, motherfuckers everywhere?”
Stiles’ mouth falls open, “Do that again.”
Derek feels his face flush, pushes past him, “Shut up.”
“No, no,” Stiles darts in front of him, blocking his entrance to the showers, “Come on, I’ve never heard you cuss, ever, and then you break out that line? That was like sex, man.”
“I… you…” Derek chokes on air for a moment, manages to arch an eyebrow, “You’re not having the best sort of sex if that’s a fair comparison.”
“I’m not having any sort of sex,” Stiles straightens up, pulls a face, “That was embarrassingly honest. I’m gonna go… Hide until seven.”
“See you later,” Derek lifts the baby a fraction to make it look like she’s waving, and Stiles huffs a laugh, gives him a salute.
Derek isn’t a nervous chatter, but he finds himself rambling to MJ all the way home. He even washes the stupid frilly dress she’s wearing in the sink, and then uses the hair dryer to dry it. Laura almost kills herself laughing when she walks in on him dressing the doll.
“Get out,” Derek snaps, tosses an orange at her.
“This is the kitchen, pops, free range,” she catches the orange easily, sits up on the counter next to him as she starts to peel it with a knife. “So, you gonna set a good example to your kid, not put out on the first date?”
Derek’s hand slips and he unplugs the dryer, tries to give his sister a withering look, “It’s not a date.”
“Uh huh, it’s the drive in. Nobody goes there unless they’re lookin’ for an excuse to get cozy and make out for three hours.”
“Stiles and I aren’t even… we weren’t even really friends before this.”
Laura jabs a piece of orange with the knife tip, eats it in one, “So?”
“So,” Derek repeats slowly, “Why would we date.”
“You wanna bone him? You have stuff in common? You bickered until five this morning and you’re still chipper as hell, even though the last time you didn’t get your eight hours you walked around looking like you’d sucked on a lemon all day,” she shrugs, “Take your pick, bro.”
“That’s not— I’m a cheerful person.”
“Uh huh, or, you think he’s cute and you’re spending time together, that could potentially add up to being a date, espesh if you ditched the kid early on.”
“Ditched the kid?! Laura! I can’t just leave her in a ditch.”
“I didn’t mean an actual ditch, dope. Just… leave her in the car and go for a walk with him? It’s no biggie; I’m pretty sure when Olivia Martin and I had to do that baby doll assignment, I put her in a backpack and left her there all week.”
“That’s because you’re both evil spirts of the underworld,” Derek replies acidly.
“And, you’re a dope,” Laura hops off the counter, flicks the orange peel at MJ’s head, “Go, have your not date. Just know that as your sister, this is the most I’ve seen you care about anything that wasn’t baseball or a David McCullough book.”
“I want to pass the class.”
“Yeah, I know you’re a nerd,” she gives him a fond look as she heads out of the kitchen, “But, that doesn’t mean you can’t take a chance and make this assignment something fun, too. Sounds like Stiles is already trying, climbing in your window, asking you out to the drive in.” Laura pauses, lifts an eyebrow significantly, “I bet he brings you something later, and if he does, that means he’s trying to provide for you, and we all know that’s code for—”
“Go away!”
Derek’s hands begin to sweat profusely.
*
“Hey! Mi familia,” Stiles calls out as Derek comes towards the jeep. “Don’t you look pretty!”
“Thanks,” Derek murmurs, knowing Stiles is setting him up, but deliberately going with it purely for the kick he gets out of their banter.
As if reading his mind, Stiles tilts his head to one side, grins at him before looking at MJ, “And, gosh, don’t you look lovely, MJ? Almost like someone’s washed your dress and everything.”
“MJ wanted to look nice,” Derek snarks, clambering into the car and pushing the doll into Stiles’ face. “Here, give her a hug.”
“Wow,” Stiles pulls back, blinking rapidly, “She smells super strongly of detergent, dude.”
Derek flushes, “I didn’t know how much to use.”
There’s a silence, and when he glances up, Stiles is giving him a warm look.
“What.”
“Nothing,” Stiles turns to the wheel with a smile on his face, starts up the ignition. “Tomorrow I’ve got a history quiz, by the way.” He juts his chin to the back of the car, and Derek sees several books on the civil war piled up.
“Are you— did you want to study?”
“No, no, I keep those in here all the time; as a constant and profound reminder of what our country’s been through.”
Derek rolls his head to glare at him, “See if I help you now.”
“I wasn’t asking,” Stiles retorts easily, starts rubbing his neck in what Derek now knows is an obvious tell he’s nervous.
“I can help,” he says softly, “I don’t mind.”
“Thanks, but, I was actually thinking we really could have fun, tonight. But, uh, tomorrow morning, if you wouldn’t mind…”
“So, no Die Hard Two?”
“I was uh, actually, I thought maybe we could do that at the weekend as a reward, if, uh, I pass?”
“We,” Derek repeats stupidly, “But, MJ, we won’t—”
“Oh, well, I mean it was just an idea like, we could hang out sans baby, but if that’s not cool then don’t worry about it,” Stiles hurries to say, jerks into the drive in so hard Derek has to catch the dash. “Sorry! She’s an old girl, now,” Stiles grimaces as he pats the steering wheel, waves at the concierge.
MJ starts crying.
“Awww,” the girl leans through the window, “What a cute…” she must notice the fact MJ’s a doll, because she trails off, gives them both a concerned look.
“It’s okay,” Stiles promises her sunnily, “It’s for a school project.”
“Oh,” the girl’s face brightens. “I remember doing that! How cute you guys are bringing the doll on dates!”
“It’s not a— I don’t— can we just get two tickets?” Stiles flashes her a tight smile, and Derek tries to make himself very small.
He’s beginning to think Laura was completely wrong, and he’s a deluded idiot being sweetened up to be a free history tutor. He finds himself patting Mary Jane’s back soothingly, leaning into her to make himself feel better as much as it is to try and comfort her.
“Cool?” Stiles addresses him, his voice tense and eyes almost panicked.
Derek frowns at him, “Are you?”
“I’m awesome, dude,” Stiles trails the car around the lot, picks a spot far back from the screen and turns to give Derek a bracing smile.
Derek returns it with a flat look, “You want her?”
“Yeah,” Stiles leans over to take MJ, almost butts his nose against Derek’s, “Sorry, shit, I’m—” he sucks in a breath, darts a look at Derek. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Would you like me to take a couple of guesses?”
Just like that, Stiles’ shoulders drop, he visibly relaxes, and he pinches Derek’s leg, “Ha ha.”
Derek’s still feeling painfully nervous, and he can’t figure out why. He wants to know if Stiles is freaking out because the ticket attendant thought they were on a date, or if it’s because he’s afraid he’s going to fail history without Derek’s help.
“You see the new one?” Stiles’ voice breaks his thoughts, and he startles, blinks over at him.
“The new what.”
“Die Hard!”
Derek can’t help the twitch of his lips, “The new one, from several years ago?”
Stiles rolls his eyes, “I was making small talk, asshole. C’mon, tell me, which is your least favorite.”
“My least,” Derek hums, watches the first commercial start up instead of Stiles pretending to feet MJ popcorn. He’s determined to not findeverything Stiles does somehow irritatingly endearing. “The fourth one,” he says finally. “It was all over the place.”
Stiles nods his agreement, tosses a handful of kernels into his mouth, “Me too,” he mumbles.
“Wow, save some of your great eating habits for when we’re at a table with the kid,” Derek deadpans.
“Hey, I can’t help it if I can fit a lot in, man.”
Derek twists to watch Stiles shovel another handful in, and privately judges himself for finding Stiles’ innuendo sexy when he looks like a chipmunk.
To avoid comment, he leans over and squeezes Stiles’ cheeks together. Popcorn goes everywhere, and Stiles jerks back, coughing and spluttering.
“You really shouldn’t put so much in,” Derek muses easily, “Gotta leave some breathing room.”
Stiles cuts him a dark look, just as the movie begins to play, “You are so lucky I’m gonna be distracted,” he hisses.
“Something bright and shiny, right?”
Stiles snickers, and then pretends he wasn’t laughing, throws a soda at Derek.
*
It’s almost embarrassing to admit, but Derek finds it strangely charming that Stiles is mouthing along to all the words. He appreciates Stiles isn’t the sort of person that has to prove they know a movie by saying the lines aloud; his sister is one of those people; Derek absolutely refuses to watch movies with Laura, anymore.
Every so often, rather than watching the action, Derek finds himself drawn to watching Stiles, instead. He likes the way Stiles’ lips quirk when he’s amused, the way he rubs his nose during tense moments, how his eyelashes sweep down when he blinks, and the way his mouth moves as he talks. Stiles was pretty when he was fifteen, and Derek was sending casual glances his way; now they’re nearly eighteen and Stiles has grown into himself. He’s beautiful. Derek likes him so much; he’s missing out on John McClane saving the motherfucking day.
Stiles coughs, and Derek jerks his head back to the movie, concentrates on Alan Rickman’s flawless American accent. Stiles hums, shifts in his seat and then there’s an arm behind Derek’s shoulders. Derek freezes. Stiles freezes. John and Hans start laughing hysterically; it’s one of Derek’s favorite movie scenes of all time, and he’s distracted by Stiles’ fingers brushing ever so carefully against his sweater. When he doesn’t immediately protest, Stiles must relax into it a little, because he leans infinitely closer to Derek, hums again, rubs his neck and drops his other hand to his leg, begins tapping his fingers so all ten are moving in a constant pattern.
It’s sort of fascinating to watch. The inch closer, the casual yawn, bigger breath, leaning in, twist of the hips—
“Are you seriously pulling a Danny Zuko on me?” Derek blurts out, just as Stiles’ hand is beginning to curl around his shoulder.
Stiles jumps back hard enough to knock his head against the glass, scowls across at Derek as he massages his skull.
“Dude!”
“It’s Derek.”
“I know the name of the guy I’ve been casually trying to feel up for an hour, Derek.”
“You’ve been doing a shitty job of it, and if we were real parents I imagine MJ would have taken a millennium to be conceived because that seems to be about as long as it’s taking you to make a damn—”
Stiles sits forward and kisses him. John McClane shoots a man through a table. It’s not exactly a romantic setting, but Derek is enthralled nonetheless. He fists a hand in Stiles’ t-shirt, tugs him across the console so that they’re as close as possible, kisses him hard and fast. He feels impatient for it, for Stiles, like the slow burn touches were incredibly annoying, awesome foreplay that were alighting his bones, making him desperate for Stiles to give him more.
“You’re so god damn irritating,” he mutters as Stiles cups his jaw, angles in to kiss him again, grins against Derek’s lips.
“Uh huh, right back at you, dude.”
“Shut up, shut up,” Derek pants out, sliding his own hands up Stiles’ arms, feeling the corded muscle beneath hot skin, enjoying the way Stiles shivers against him when his fingers slip under the cotton hems. They’re not even half naked, but it feels more charged, more electrifying than any other experience he’s had.
“I’m not doing your history test for you,” he warns, rubbing his scruff against Stiles’ cheek for a moment.
Stiles goes still, tips his head back to look at him, “What.”
“I just mean,” Derek shrugs, “If you were—”
“If I were attempting some insane scheme of seduction with a doll and Die Hard to get you to put out and then do my history test for me.”
“Well, when you put it like that.”
“Derek,” Stiles presses forward and kisses him again, drags his lower lip between Derek’s and then nips at them as he pulls away. “I want you. I have for… since like, that Halloween when Cora made you go as Ross so she could be Monica and wear the turkey and you had that hair.” Stiles rolls his eyes back in his head dramatically, and Derek scowls up at him. “Seriously,” Stiles continues, “It was so high, and the blazer and the mustache for eighties Ross, god, you just looked—”
Derek tilts his head to one side, and Stiles stops, gives him a sheepish look.
“My point is you’re awesome. You’re an aggravating, stubborn, intelligent asshole and I really wanna make out with you until at least the next Die Hard comes out. And, we know Bruce is gonna stall on that for another year to make them offer him even more and, you’re just…” He waves his hands in front of them, flexes his fingers, “And, I just wanna… Mmm.”
“Mmm?”
“Mhm,” Stiles leans in and kisses him slowly, drifts back an inch to meet Derek’s gaze, “That okay with you?”
“That…” Gunfire begins in the background, and Derek grins, nods even as he’s leaning in to kiss Stiles himself. “Really good.”
Stiles hums, pleased, and pushes further into Derek’s space, almost in his lap as they kiss fervently.
Derek’s just sliding his hands under the back of Stiles’ tee, when the doll starts crying.
Without looking, Stiles slips her upside down and takes the battery out. When he moves in to Derek again, Derek gives him an unimpressed look.
“What.”
“You know what.”
“What?! I just know how to do that, okay? It was instinct. A desperation to get back to the good stuff,” Stiles wiggles his eyebrows, “My fight or flight instinct kicked in.”
“So, you haven’t done that before.”
“And, risk our grade? Because she wouldn’t shut up when I was trying to nap in social studies this afternoon? No, I would never.”
“Stiles!”
“I’m sorry! But, also, useful trick, right?”
“Real kids don’t have those. The whole point is—”
Stiles puts a hand over his mouth, “I’m gonna stop you there, baby daddy.” Derek narrows his eyes, and Stiles grins. “We both know what you wanna do is kiss me till McClane blows up the building and Hollie gets her punch on. Then we can maybe go back to yours, make your mom think I’m dropping you off and me… I happen to already know how to scale your place and so, if I happened to show up and put my hands down your pants, with permission, obviously, and you got some, I feel like you wouldn’t want the kid to see that. Or, even the fake kid. It might help to have some practice in how to stay quiet during orgasms, I wouldn’t know, as I’ve said it’s not happened with anyone else, so, new territory. But, with college coming up we need to step up our game and I think, really, we shouldn’t waste a moment. We really do need to keep that thing off, so I can maybe try getting on my knees in here, I don’t know, could be a tight fit, but hey,” he widens his eyes at Derek, “I like a challenge and you like me, so, you definitely like a challenge.”
“Didn’t say I liked you,” Derek mumbles grumpily.
“We both know that’s a massive lie. You said it with your eyes. Just. You like me. You like me so much you’re feeling up my back, right now.”
Derek stills his hands from where they just so happened to be trailing up and down Stiles’ spine.
“I mean, don’t let me stop you,” Stiles preens, leans into Derek’s touch, “I’m enjoying it.”
“Smart ass.”
“Yeah, that’s my point,” Stiles lifts his eyebrows significantly. “I brought books as a backup, in case you weren’t into this, and we could go home, study, part as friends and raise a happy, healthy doll together for the next two days.”
“Books were your back up.”
“Uh huh, I could pass that test in my sleep, bro.”
“Derek.”
“You’ll warm up to some of the pet names, trust me, sweet cheeks.”
“Nope.”
“I’ll find one you’re into.”
“You won’t.”
“Look, the kid’s quiet, the movie’s awesome, do you wanna make out or what?”
Derek looks up at him for a moment, takes in his whole lovely, annoyingly smug, right everything, and then nods, “Sure I do, baby daddy.”
Stiles pretends to shudder as he leans back in smiling, “Okay, point made, we won’t use that one with the real kids.”