Running was a thing that Stiles did. He ran marathons, taking off time for work to travel across the country to do them. Yes, he was one of those people who kept his times, posting them on his facebook , taking photos with his best friend at the finish line with both of them thumbs up-ing the camera.
He ran because he’d always done it. Cross Country had been his thing in High School. Sure, lacrosse had been the sport of choice at his school, but he’d been a bench warmer. Running he could do. One foot in front of the other, concentrating on his breathing. Distance running. It was cathartic, helped him clear his head.
Stiles rarely drank anything other than water, unless he was out with friends having drinks. He preferred beer on tap, from local breweries. He was that asshole, pretentious beer drinker. His best friend Scott, was much the same, though. They’d been friends since elementary school, all the way up through college when they did undergrad together, even roomed together freshman year in the dorms before they got an off campus apartment with two other guys.
Moving to New York to get his masters had been the hardest decision Stiles had ever made. Leaving his dad back in California, along with Scott and his long time girlfriend Allison, was difficult, but that’s why he ran.
He ran with Scott all across the country because that was their thing.
Stiles worked at a bank, in Boston, as a manager. He worked 8-5 and he’d be lying if he said he enjoyed it. But that was what the weekend was for, he supposed. He had friends, mostly from the branch, that he did things with sometimes. He dated, well, he went on dates. There wasn’t much there, spark wise, with the people he’d gone out with.
He wasn’t lonely, he had a cat.
His cat hated him, though. Unless it was hungry, then it woke him up at the asscrack of dawn. That’s okay, though. Stiles didn’t need cuddles from his cat.
“Dude, you ready for this weekend?” Scott asked over the phone on Wednesday.
“Fuck yeah,” Stiles said. He sat curled up on his couch, flipping through netflix options. “Why can’t I ever decide what to watch on netflix?”
“Because there’s too many options, it’s a dilemma.”
“Give me something to watch.”
“Lost rewatch,” Scott suggested. “No, wait. Orange is the New Black. Allison had me watch that, it was awesome.”
“Already done,” Stiles groaned. “Season two is out soon, though.”
“Orphan Blak is on Amazon Prime.”
“Oh, good idea,” Stiles said, x-ing out of netflix on his Xbox 360 and going on Prime instead. “Okay, so, this weekend.”
“Right, We got the double rooms, one for you, then one for Allison and I.”
“I thought it was just going to be us,” Stiles said, trying not to sound disappointed. “I thought she had that thing.”
“She cancelled the thing.”
“Well then, that settles it,” Stiles said with a laugh. “Haven’t ran in Chicago before.”
“I’m excited about the pizza,” Scott said, burping afterwards. Stiles rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help but smile. Even living across the country from each other, they hadn’t drifted apart. They were way past burping at each other over the phone.
“We are so getting pizza to celebrate.”
“We touch down at seven on Friday,” Scott said as Stiles put his phone on speaker so he could look up his itinerary information on his phone.
“I get in around five, so I’ll just hang out at a bar near the hotel since you have the confirmation info.”
“Sounds good, man. I can’t wait to see you.”
The flight was normal, if by normal Stiles meant fucking annoying as hell, and he did. He sat in front of a mother and her two, count them two, kids under the age of five. Beside him sat a nice old lady who asked Stiles questions the entire flight. By the time he found the hotel, then a bar nearby he was done with socializing.
He ordered a water first, with lemon, then an IPA on tap. He had his duffel bag by his feet, the sleeves to his shirt rolled up and his collar undone, tie shoved somewhere in his bag from when he got off work. He took a half-day because he couldn’t afford to take the full one off, and now he had to deal waiting almost two hours for Scott and Allison to get to the hotel. He sighed, then drank down the water in practically one gulp.
“Wow,” a voice said to his right. Stiles glanced over, almost spitting his water back into his glass at the sight. A guy, in a wifebeater no less, and tight jeans, sat next to him, two stools over with two empty glasses before him, another half full in his hand.
Stiles finished off the glass of water, gasping for breath once he was done.
“Flight didn’t have in-flight service.”
“Sometimes business class is worth it,” the stranger said with a quirk of his eyebrow. “Just get in?”
“Yeah,” Stiles said, turning his glass of IPA around with his hand, staring down at the coaster as it twirled. “Friends don’t get in until seven, have some time to kill.”
“In town for the weekend?” They asked, leaning closer, but not distractingly so. Stiles sipped his beer, looking out a head before he nodded.
“For the marathon.”
“Huh,” they said with a shrug. “I’m running that, too.”
“Really?” Stiles asked, looking at him. He looked more like a bodybuilder than a runner. Stiles was all lean muscle, lithe, whereas this man was all bulk, though his torso was thin. He was in good shape, probably watched what he ate, but here they both were, at a bar, drinking.
“Where are you from?”
“Loaded question,” Stiles said, his eyes narrow. “From California, but live in Boston.”
“I’m from California, but live here,” he said in answer. “I’m Derek.”
“Stiles,” he said, offering his hand. Derek shook it, then went back to his beer.
“So you flew in for it?”
“It’s not unheard of,” Stiles scoffed. “My best friend and I-- we do it a couple times a year.”
“Really?” Derek asked. “My sister roped me into doing this, she’s a runner.”
“Ah, my people,” Stiles joked as he took a drink. “What do you do, Derek?” Stiles asked, looking him over once again.
“I’m a personal trainer,” he said, giving Stiles the same once over. “You?”
“Banker,” Stiles said with a wide grin, showing his teeth. “Living the life.”
“Sounds like it,” Derek said. “Can I buy you another?” He asked, pointing at Stiles’ half empty glass. Stiles looked down at it, weighing his options. He found there was nothing to weigh, so he nodded his head. “Another round, Joe,” Derek said, gesturing between the two of them.
“Is this your Friday night ritual?” Stiles asked, indicating the now three empty glasses in front of Derek. Derek smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Just today.” Stiles didn’t pry further, but clinked his glass against Derek’s in thanks. Derek sighed before he took a sip from his. They drank in silence, Stiles carding his fingers through his hair as he checked his watch. So much time to spare still. Stiles glanced at Derek, biting his bottom lip. He’d never picked anyone up before, not someone random that he hadn’t technically gone on a date with before hand. He’d danced with people at clubs, but never went home with them then. He was a ‘get your number and text you first’ kind of guy, but hey. There were firsts for everything.
“I gotta head out,” Derek said, downing his beer. Stiles tried not to look disappointed. Maybe it was for the best. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow,” Derek said, putting a few bills on the bartop for a tip before he clapped Stiles on the shoulder.
“Yeah, maybe,” Stiles said, watching Derek go.
Scott and Allison arrived two beers later.
Stiles stretched, like he always did before he ran. He counted the seconds in his mind as he stretched his hamstrings, holding onto Scott for support. Beside them, Allison was checking in on facebook. She wasn’t running with them, she strained her achilles on Thursday at the gym, but she’d be at the finish line waiting for them, ready to take an action shot. Stiles and Scott ran together, pushing each other to go faster along the way, keep their run times down. They paced themselves, but knew they could beat their record made in Baltimore by at least a few minutes..
“You ready for this?” Scott asked with a grin.
“You bet,” Stiles said, hopping from foot to foot in order to warm up. Stiles twisted his torso back and forth, looking around, hoping to find Derek. He didn’t see him anywhere, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there somewhere. “I’m ready.”
Allison fussed at Stiles’ number, repinning it.
“It’s crooked,” She said as Stiles held his hands up, out of the way.
“It’s fine,” Stiles said, but let her do it anyways.
“I wish I was running too,” She said, her eyebrows drawn. “Who pulls a muscle two days before a marathon.”
“Hey, look, now we’ll get a great finish shot,” Scott said, pulling her towards him for a kiss. Stiles looked away, giving them their moment as he scratched at the nape of his neck. His face brightened when he saw Derek approaching with a girl with similar features, her hair done up in a tight bun.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Stiles said, extending his hand out to Derek, who smirked.
“Likewise,” Derek said, holding onto Stiles’ hand for longer than was necessary. Stiles smiled back, turning his attention to Derek’s sister.
“Stiles,” he said by way of introduction.
“Cora, Derek’s sister.”
“Nice to meet you, this is Scott and Allison, guys, this is Derek, from the bar,” Stiles said, gesturing to his friends.
“Hey man,” Scott said, shaking Derek’s hand, then his sister. “Stiles told us this is your first marathon?”
“I didn’t say that,” Derek said. “It’s our, what?” Derek asked Cora, looking to her for confirmation. “Third together?”
“Yeah,” Cora confirmed. “But this is my fourth.”
“Awesome,” Scott said, looking between everyone. “Well, have a good run, guys.”
“You too,” Cora said, looking between Stiles and Derek.
“Sorry, I assumed it was your first,” Stiles said as he grabbed his own elbow, stretching out more. He looked over Derek, his loose basketball shorts and wifebeater. He didn’t look dressed for a marathon. “You worried about chaffing?” Stiles asked seriously, pointing at Derek’s shorts.
“I’ve got underarmour on,” Derek supplied, snapping his shorts as he visibly checked Stiles out. “I don’t own running clothes, mostly track bottoms and t-shirts.”
“That makes sense,” Stiles laughed. “I’ll see you at the finish line?” Stiles asked. “What was your last runtime?”
“Mine was about five hours.”
“Not bad,” Stiles said. “For a beginner.” Derek’s eyes narrowed, but he smiled through it.
“My last was 4:15, but my best was 4:02.”
“What’s your goal today?” Derek asked, his arms crossed. He had his trainer face on, Stiles could tell.
“4:14,” Stiles said with a grin. “But I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I expect to be around 4:20 something.” Derek tilted his head at Stiles as if considering something.
“I think you can do it,” Derek said. Stiles scoffed.
“You don’t know me,” Stiles said. “Or how I trained.”
“Don’t diss yourself, it’s not sexy.”
“Wasn’t trying to be,” Stiles said, though he could tell his face reddened. He cleared his throat, looking towards Scott and Allison who were watching him, but out of the corners of their eyes. “I should get back to my friends.”
“See you after.”
“Yeah,” Stiles said, giving him a small wave before walking off.
Scott and Stiles didn’t talk as they ran. It was a companionable sort of silence, listening to himself breathe as his feet worked in sync with Scott’s, keeping his pace. They ran together every step of the way, grabbing water when they needed it. A dull ache could be felt throughout his legs three hours into the marathon as he grew tired. They adjusted their pacing, despite how much Stiles wanted to beat his Baltimore time.
It took Stiles five minutes to realize that Derek ran alongside him, with around five miles left to the race. Stiles faltered, doing a double take when he realized who it was keeping in step with he and Scott. Drenched in sweat, Derek gave Stiles an exhausted half smile. Stiles managed a smile, but kept his breath by not speaking.
They got water one more time, but didn’t stop. He looked to his watch, set on a timer. If they pushed the last stretch, he’d make good time. Wiping the sweat from his face, Stiles kept his feet moving one after the other, staying in time with Scott’s own pace.
When the finish line came into view, Stiles let out an exhale somewhere between a laugh and a sigh of relief. He and Scott grabbed hands as they crossed over it, finding Allison in the crowd so she could get their picture. Stiles slowed to a walk as soon as she got it, his hand dropping from Scott’s side as he held onto his shirt, grasping at his hips as he panted, continuing to move to a slow walk, taking a gatorade from Allison, holding the liquid in his mouth before swallowing.
He looked down at his watch, grinning at the time: 4:11. He beat his Baltimore time by four minutes. Stiles looked towards the sky, his mouth hanging open as he thought about sitting and stretching. He caught Derek’s eye, where he held onto a tree nearby, stretching his calves. Stiles made his way over, offering the gatorade to Derek.
“Thanks,” Derek said, taking it and pouring it into his mouth without letting the edge of the bottle touch his mouth. He was soaked through with sweat, and Stiles wasn’t much better. He looked to Scott and Allison, where Scott used her to help him balance as he stretched his hamstrings. Stiles pressed his foot against the bottom of the tree, making his Achilles’ heel ache. It felt so good.
“That’s quite a feat,” Stiles said between sips of gatorade and deep breaths. “Going from five hours to four eleven.” Derek shrugged.
“I didn’t have a reason to go faster before,” he said easily. Stiles smirked, but said nothing as he looked around.
“Where’s Cora?” Stiles asked.
“She’s a little behind us, she likes taking her time, not pushing herself.”
“Wise of her,” Stiles said as he sat down, putting his feet together and pressing down on his thighs, wincing as he held them down. “Oh, god,” he moaned, his head falling forward, chin pressing against his chest.
“Want me to help? Derek offered. Stiles nodded, laying down on his back, lifting his leg slightly. Derek took his foot in hand, getting down on one knee as he pushed Stiles’ leg toward his chest.
“Fuck,” Stiles panted, grabbing at the grass surrounding him. “That feels good.” Derek laughed, shaking his head as he did the other leg.
“Do you always sound like that?” Derek asked wrily. Stiles reddened, reaching a hand out for Derek to help him up, if he didn’t stay moving, he wouldn’t get up for hours.
“Want me to--”
“I’m good,” Derek said, looking to where Cora crossed the finish line, clutching at her sides much like Stiles had done, walking slowly over to them.
“Damn you took off,” Cora said, putting a hand on Derek’s shoulder for balance. “Stretch me before a collapse here.”
“Sure thing,” Derek said, giving Stiles a look that said something along the lines of ‘see you’. Stiles waved, walking slowly back to his friends.
“Cold shower time?” Scott asked.
“Cold bath time,” Stiles agreed. “And food.”
Stiles had a protein shake waiting for him in his ice bucket back in his room. He downed it before stripping out of his sweat soaked clothes. He was already cold and clammy, since he hadn’t brought dry clothes to change into after the marathon. The water was lukewarm at most when he filled the tub, knowing it would be painful enough without going any cooler.
He stayed in the bath, soaking his muscles for as long as he could tolerate. When his fingers and toes were pruny, he got out, toweling himself off quickly. He put on his comfy sweat pants he brought, along with his favorite shirt and hoodie. He knocked on his adjoining door to Allison and Scott’s room, letting them know he was done. When he didn’t get a response back, he crawled into bed, piling three pillows up at the end of the bed to elevate his feet. He turned the TV on and flipped through the channels until he found something interesting to watch as he waited for them to open the door.
One thing he didn’t do was curse himself for not getting Derek’s last name or phone number. Nope. He didn’t do it.
Okay, so he did. He’d probably never see him again and there wasn’t really much he could do about it.
He ended up falling asleep, channel changer in hand, not even waking up when Allison opened the door to their room. When he woke up, his body ached, his feet swollen because he didn’t put shoes back on after he got out of the shower.
“Scott,” Stiles called out, rubbing at his eyes as he stretched his legs, pointing his toes towards the TV.
“What?” Scott shouted back.
“Are you hungry?” Stiles asked, loud enough that Scott could hear.
“Yeah but that requires moving,” Scott shouted back. Stiles sighed, pushing himself up by his elbows as he looked at the time.
“There’s a burger joint around the corner.”
“Burgers, mmm,” Scott said, as Allison appeared in the doorway, her hair done up in a towel from a shower.
“We can go get something, just give me a few.” Stiles fell back against the bed, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket.
“Sounds good. I’ll be here, not moving.”
Stiles managed to put jeans on, which his legs protested about, but he did it anyways. He kept the hoodie, though, making him look like he was still in undergrad instead of a late-twenties, almost thirty professional. The Rainbows just added to his current college bro status, as well as his messy hair a la his freshman year when déshabillée was all the rage.
Luckily, the burger joint wasn’t a fancy establishment, and they didn’t look twice at him as he sat in a booth, half hunched over. Scott didn’t look any better, so Stiles knew he’d get over his appearance.
Stiles ordered three waters, because he knew he’d down at least two right away. He ordered a burger, not really paying attention to which he pointed at. He was that grumpy sort of hungry, hangry as Scott called it, so he slouched over so he took up the entire side of his booth, talking in mostly grunts until an appetizer that Allison ordered arrived.
Stiles annihilated his burger. It wasn’t a pretty sight, that much he knew, shoving fries into his mouth with burger still half chewed there. Scott looked the same and Allison was definitely used to it. Stiles laughed to himself when he recalled Allison shoving half a piece a pizza in her mouth in Baltimore.
“Hey guys,” Cora said, appearing by Stiles’ side. With wide eyes and an open mouth, Stiles looked at her in shock. He closed his mouth, continuing to chew his food as fast as he could before wiping his mouth with a napkin.
“Hey-- hey Cora. Wow, what a coincidence,” Stiles said, gesticulating with his hands around the restaurant. Of all the places in Chicago-- “Is, uh, is Derek here?” Stiles asked, looking around her.
“No,” she said, putting a hand on her hip, her head tilting slightly as she looked him over. Stiles couldn’t help but sink down further into the booth, taking another fry. “But he should be here soon.” Stiles looked up to see her smirking down at him knowingly. Stiles narrowed his eyes, but said nothing as he dipped his fry into ketchup before sticking it in his mouth.
“Oh, awesome,” Scott said. Stiles was still on the angry side of hungry, so he wasn’t up for much conversation.
“We’re grabbing a bite to eat with some friends over there,” Cora said, pointing towards a corner where one of the bigger wrap around booths were. “In case you wondered.”
“Thanks,” Stiles said, trying to sound sincere. Really, he just wanted to crash and sleep for two days. Cora gave him a look before heading over to the booth herself.
“Dude, rude much?” Scott asked, kicking lamely at Stiles’ side of the booth.
“What?” Stiles said, forcing himself to sit up straighter, attempting to flatten his hair before Derek came in. “I’m crashing, seriously.”
“We can tell,” Allison said, her eyebrows raised. “Eat more, maybe it will curb your side of asshole.”
“Hey,” Stiles pouted, though he knew it to be true. He finished his burger, then crawled out of the booth in order to head to the bathroom. He peed, then washed his hands. He wet his hair, which did nothing to help the untamed mess on top of his head. Grumbling to himself he made to push open the swinging door. He yelped when Derek appeared, looking just as surprised as Stiles was.
“Holy shit,” Stiles said, a hand on the door, another halfway between him and Derek.
“Hey yourself,” Derek said. “Cora said you guys were here somewhere.”
“Of all the places in Chicago,” Stiles said with a laugh, looking over Derek’s outfit. Jeans, faded, with a v- neck shirt. Simple, but looked amazing on him. Stiles gulped. “I think we were uh, about to head out though.” Stiles could hear the disappointment in his own voice.
“Well, next time you’re in Chicago, then,” Derek said. Stiles nodded, biting his lip.
“Yeah, next time.”
The next morning, Stiles could barely move. His body ached as he attempted to stretch.
“Jesus Christ,” he said aloud, groaning as he kicked off his covers then set about massaging his leg muscles himself. It would be slow going, getting back to normal after a marathon, but he was used to it. He had to walk, at least for a little while, to make sure that he didn’t get stiff.
Allison and Scott were already up and packing by the time Stiles made it into his shower. Check out time was eleven, and he had forty five minutes, still. The water felt good, he kept the temperature cool, as he stood under the spray. It didn’t take him long before he wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking himself to hardness as the water cascaded down his body. He thought about Derek, because why the fuck not.
He thought about his muscles, his broad chest beneath the v-neck, along with the hair that had been apparent beneath it. Stiles would never see him again, but that didn’t stop his body from reacting when he imagined himself beneath Derek, being fucked by him.
Stiles came, his eyes open wide. He’d never been one for one night stands, but he’d regret not hooking up with Derek for a long, long time.
When he got out of the shower and dried off, Stiles quickly packed his things then got dressed. He met Allison and Scott downstairs at the check out, the three of them sharing a cab to the airport. His gate was on the opposite side of the airport than theirs, so he decided to grab breakfast before he walked to the end of the concourse.
On his flight back to Boston, his legs hated him. It was the worst part, in a way, being forced to sit in one position for hours, his muscles hating it. Not even his marathon of Breaking Bad on his iPad could cure his restlessness.
He arrived back at his apartment just as the sun was going down, casting a warm light across his lonesome apartment. His cat, Freckles, or Frek, was no where to be scene.
“Of course you didn’t miss me,” Stiles called out, dropping his things at the doorway. “Why would you?”
He crashed on the couch, not even making it to his bed. He had a long week ahead of him.
Stiles didn’t even put his running shoes on until a week after the marathon. Sure, he took walks, did leg exercises, and watched what he ate, but he knew his body wouldn’t be ready to run for at least a week after. Some times he waited even longer, but he felt that itch that needed to be scratched.
He liked to run before work. That meant an early alarm, but since his cat woke him at 5:30 anyways it wasn’t that much of a stretch. He didn’t run far that first morning, or the second, but by the third day he was up to five miles easy.
At work, he looked at his calendar, circled on he and Scott’s next marathon. They ran two full marathons a year, but then also did two half marathons in between the two because recovery was a thing they learned two years prior when they attempted four marathons in one year. It had been brutal.
The half marathon was in three months, in Louisiana. They picked it because it was around Mardi Gras, and Stiles had saved up his vacation time to go to New Orleans afterwards. He took his normal half day for Friday, then took off all five days of the following week so they could be in New Orleans for Fat Tuesday. It would be chaos, but worth it.
So Stiles concentrated on recovery, on training, and building back up his endurance. He used the gym, mostly for weight training, but the treadmill was good for sprinting.
He went on two dates, one with a woman who spent too much time talking about her family, and a man who was an accountant with no sense of humor whatsoever. He went home with neither of them, and they didn’t ask for second dates. He was completely okay with that fact.
Stiles flew home the weekend of his father’s birthday. It had meant not only seeing his dad, but spending time with Scott, too. His life moved forward at a snails pace, regret about Chicago filtering through his mind as he lay awake at night, wondering what the fuck he was doing halfway across the country for a banking job.
As the half-marathon approached, Stiles became excited once more. He was better at half-marathons, so was Scott, so he knew they could do it in less than half the time it took them in Chicago.
Baton Rouge was nothing like Boston, or Chicago for that matter. His hotel room was small, and they had to walk farther to find a restaurant that wasn’t attached to a bar. It was just Scott and he, this time, because Allison had a work thing. Stiles suspected it was more Allison giving them the week together for Mardi Gras, but he wasn’t going to push the subject.
“Man, I love seafood,” Scott said as he dropped an empty oyster shell into the bucket. Stiles nodded as he dunked his oyster into melted butter, then swallowed it down. They shared two buckets full, then contemplated a third.
“If we get another one, we’re gonna vomit tomorrow,” Stiles pointed out as he rubbed his stomach, leaning back in his chair.
“They’re so good,” Scott said, elongating his sentence with a moan. “But I’m ready to crash.”
“Me too,” Stiles said, taking the check from the waitress, then winking at her.
“Hey, I was gonna get that--”
“Yeah, well, think fast next time,” Stiles said as he paid in cash, leaving her a tip with it. “Come on, let’s go.”
They shared a room with two queen sized beds. It felt like college again, what with the burping and the farting and basically giving fuck all once they were alone together. They passed out with Adult Swim on in the background, a thing that Stiles hadn’t watched since senior year when they used to smoke and watch it. Somehow it wasn’t the same when not watched from behind a haze of weed, a bowl shared between them but the sentiment had been there, somewhere.
The half marathon itself made Stiles feel alive. Nothing got his blood pumping as much as running with Scott did, besides sex. But he wasn’t having sex, so crossing the finish line was basically like climaxing after waiting for months.
They rented a car to drive to New Orleans on Sunday, the day after the half-marathon. It wasn’t far, just over an hour, but that hour had been the longest Stiles could remember.
“Whose idea was this again?” Stiles asked, his feet up on the dashboard as Scott drove. “My legs feel like they’re going to fall off.”
“When we get in, we should go walk around,” Scott said. “I’m starving.”
“Me too,” Stiles said, sighing. “Also, I want to get laid.”
“You totally can,” Scott said, shrugging. “You just gotta put yourself out there, you know?” Stiles laughed, because Scott was one to talk. He had Allison had been together since High School. They broke up for a short time, but they were the end all be all for each other. Stiles, though, had intimacy issues.
“Putting myself out there may seem easy to you,” Stiles said. “But it’s not. Not even my cat likes me.”
“Freckles is a dick,” Scott pointed out.
“Hey,” Stiles said, defensive of his asshole cat. “Leave him alone. He’s just a loner.”
“Whatever. This week is about you getting drunk and getting some beads.”
“I think there’s a bit more to this week than that,” Stiles said, but didn’t deny the fact that he did want to get drunk, and get some beads on top of that.
The hotel was packed already, and parking was a bitch, but eventually they managed to drop their things off before heading out in search for food. Finding a place that didn’t have a massive wait was hard, but they settled on a bar about four blocks from their hotel. It was standing room only, which only went to show how the week would go leading up to Fat Tuesday. They stood by a highboy table, drinks in hand. They ordered chicken wings, along with fried pickles, which were Stiles’ favorite fried thing, besides fries.
Stiles was onto his second beer when he thought he heard his name. He looked around the bar for a familiar face, Scott giving him an odd look as he did it.
“Who are you looking-- holy shit,” Scott said, slapping Stiles on the shoulder. “Dude, that guy from Chicago is here.”
“What?” Stiles asked, wide eyed as he looked around the crowded bar. There, with a beer in his hand, wearing one of those unfair wifebeaters that showed every single muscle in his arms, was Derek smiling at Stiles. “Holy fuckballs,” Stiles said as he watched Derek approach their table.
“Mind if I join you?” Derek asked, setting his glass down. “There isn’t room at the bar, really.”
“Or anywhere,” Scott pointed out. Stiles sort of just stood there staring at Derek, because he really thought he’d never see him again. He thought he lost his chance, forever regretting it and yet there was Derek standing there looking at him, waiting for a reaction.
“Yeah, you can stay,” Stiles said, belated. Derek looked amused rather than annoyed, which was a relief. Stiles took a large gulp of his beer, then stuffed a fried pickle in his mouth.
“Thanks,” Derek said, looking Stiles up and down, making him feel naked. He was in his favorite pair of jeans, faded and soft, with an old college t-shirt on that probably had a hole in the armpit or a stain.
“What, what are you doing here?” Stiles asked, leaning on the highboy in an attempt to look cool, or suave. Scott laughed at him.
“Mardi Gras,” Derek said, gesturing around. “I actually come down every year.”
“Really?” Stiles asked, intrigued. “That’s really cool.”
“Yeah, I’m here visiting friends, well. I’m crashing on their couch.”
“That’s the way to do it,” Scott said, clapping Derek on the back. “I wish we had friends here. The hotel markup is insane. We’re sharing a room.”
“Sounds awesome,” Derek said easily. “Better than me sharing a couch with a great dane.”
“So you’re on the ground, is what you’re saying,” Stiles pointed out.
“Basically,” Derek laughed. “Free is free, though. I’m meeting Boyd here in a bit, once he gets off work.”
“Oh? What’s he do?” Stiles asked.
“He’s an EMT.”
“I bet he’s busy as fuck right now,” Scott said, peeling the label off his beer bottle. “Who wants another round?”
Scott, Stiles, and Derek stumbled out of the bar, Boyd leading the way towards his car.
“You sure?” Stiles asked, or rather, he slurred. Boyd had invited them, as far as he was aware, over to he and his fiance’s house for dinner.
“Definitely,” Boyd said, opening the car door for he and Scott to crawl into. “We’re grilling out, and you’ll love the view.”
Stiles fell asleep on Scott’s shoulder on the way to Boyd’s, which really wasn’t that far at all. He could hear Derek and Boyd talking, even Scott beside him, each movement jarring Stiles awake only for his eyes close once more.
The climb out of the car felt like an eternity, and the walk up the stairs like a mountain. He was given water after he sat down on a second story balcony, in a lawn chair. The view was incredible, with the street below full of people just as drunk as he was.
Derek was nearby, Stiles could hear him laughing.
“Here,” Derek said, handing Stiles a bowl of pretzels. “Eat these.” Stiles did. He rarely ever was a day drinker, but he supposed if he were to do it, this would be the week for it.
Stiles watched the people walk by, his head leaning against the railing, arms hanging over the side, dangling. Derek sat beside him in a lawn chair, his legs stretched out, touching Stiles’ casually. Stiles felt as though it was an electric current buzzing through his body. He could smell whatever it was Boyd had on the grill, making his mouth water as the sun lowered behind the skyline.
Homemade blue cheese burgers with blue cheese crumbles packed into the meat were Stiles’ newest weakness. He ate two, swallowing them down with more beer, a home brew of Boyd’s. Boyd was officially the coolest person Stiles had ever come incontact with. Erica, his fiance, was pretty fucking awesome too as she shouted down at the crowd, asking if they wanted beads.
She tossed them down if they flashed her, which, wow. New Orleans.
“Hey,” Stiles said to Derek, sometime later, after the sun was completely gone and Erica had turned on twinkle lights to light the porch. Derek looked over at him, giving him a lazy smile as he linked his pinky with Stiles’.
“Hey.” Stiles tugged on Derek’s pinky with his own, his fingers curling as he grabbed hold of Derek’s hand. Stiles exhaled, his eyes closing. It felt right, and he didn’t fight it as Derek’s fingers intertwined with his own, alcohol buzzing throughout his system.
It felt right.
“Come on,” Derek said, later again still, pulling Stiles to his feet. “We’re all going out.”
“Out?” Stiles asked.
“It’s Mardi Gras,” Derek said, hooking his arm around Stiles’ waist. Stiles supposed Derek was right, after all.
Derek got beads before anyone else, because he walked around without his shirt on. It was tucked into the back of his pants. Stiles’ hand on Derek’s bare waist gave him nothing but a half hard situation in his own pants, but as the five of them walked the streets, it didn’t really matter. Scott dance-walked his way down the street, beer in one hand, held high as his feet did this weird thing that Stiles couldn’t quite comprehend.
He felt better after walking for a time, not needing to lean on Derek quite as much, but kept his arm around him just the same as they bar hopped. Stiles lifted his shirt at a drunk college girl who wanted guys to flash her, winning him his own beads.
If he were sober, he’d be embarrassed. Luckily for him, no one was, and he got cheers for a job well done. No shame scored him beads, scored anyone beads.
Of the group, Erica was hit on the most. It wasn’t surprising, her being the only girl, but she took it in stride, as did Boyd. She collected her beads like trophies, awarding kisses on the cheek to any who struck her fancy.
Derek was runner up, though. He had girls grabbing at him, wanting to feel his chest, his ass, his arms. Stiles swatted away one of them, even though Derek wasn’t his to defend. Protectively, Derek put an arm around Stiles as he did a shot off of a proffered chest, the salt halfway down her cleavage. After Derek took the shot, he turned to Stiles, kissing him.
Stiles opened his mouth, tasting the tequila on Derek’s lips and in his mouth, the salt on his tongue. Stiles twisted his body so their chests pressed together, putting his all into the kiss as his hand held onto the nape of Derek’s neck. Derek held onto him, his mouth moving against Stiles’ as people around them whooped and hollered. Stiles grinned against Derek’s lips as the kiss came to an end, enjoying the feel of Derek pressed against him.
When he opened his eyes, Derek looked at him, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if thinking. Stiles bit his lip, his fingers playing with Derek’s hair, rubbing at his neck.
The next thing Stiles knew, he was wrenched away, handed a shot of tequila and had his face pressed into another girl’s chest. He licked, he took the shot, and then she kissed him. He didn’t mind it, not in the least, but what he wanted had been Derek. The kiss was short, to the point, and had no feeling behind it as she clung to him, begging for another go. Stiles turned towards Derek to find him gone.
Scott was there, nearby, watching two girls make out, then watching two guys. It was a “everything goes” sort of experience, and Stiles had about enough for one night. He went up to Scott, holding him close so they could talk.
“Where’d they go?” Stiles asked.
“Who?” Scott asked, confused. “Oh!” Scott said, shaking his head. “Erica got sick. They took her to a bathroom.” The worry Stiles felt left him feeling more sober than he knew himself really to be.
“Well let’s wait for them,” Stiles suggested. He didn’t want to lose Derek, not again. They held hands as they made their way through the crowd, despite the late hour. Or early, depending on how you looked at things.
Derek, Boyd, and Erica emerged some time later, indiscernible by Stiles who found the ground to be very, very interesting. So interesting in fact that Scott had to help him to his feet, leaving it behind.
“I wanted to sit,” Stiles whined as they walked. “I want to sit again.”
“We’ll sit in a little bit,” Scott assured him, but Stiles didn’t believe him. So he sat. In the street.
It was perfect, until Derek hoisted him up.
“No,” Stiles said, elongating his disappointment by whimpering as his body became a limp noodle in hopes of being able to sit once more.
Derek held onto him, much to his dismay.
“We’re almost back,” Derek said, dragging Stiles to his feet.
“You’re strong,” Stiles pointed out, poking Derek’s arm as they walked. “Like, really strong. I’m like, 180 lbs.”
“I can press 250,” Derek said as they ascended the stairs.
“This is not the hotel,” Scott said, over enunciating every word.
“We’ve got plenty of floor,” Boyd said as he and Erica made for their bedroom. Stiles sat near the doorway, not wanting to go any further as Scott fell onto the couch. Derek grabbed two throw pillows, tossing them at Stiles, who hadn’t been expecting them. He was knocked to the ground, laughing as he held onto them.
“Take your shoes off,” Derek said as he sat next to Stiles, laughing himself. Stiles kicked them off, tucking a pillow beneath his head as he laid down. He could feel Derek lie down next to him, his body almost touching. Stiles reached out and put his hand on Derek’s face.
“What’re you doing?” Derek asked, his voice muffled.
“Touching your face,” Stiles said as he rolled onto his side, facing Derek. Even though the patio door was closed, he could still hear the rowdy crowd down below. “Is it going to be like this all week?” He asked.
“It’s going to get better,” Derek said, his own hand reaching out and cupping Stiles’ face. Stilles leaned forward, moving his hand out of the way so he could kiss Derek.
Stiles sighed into the kiss as Derek drug him closer, their legs tangling as the kiss deepened. He moaned, tasting the alcohol on Derek’s tongue. He didn’t want to stop kissing Derek, ever. He knew how to kiss, well, and Stiles would be forever fucked by it. No one else would compare and that alone got him to stop, putting a hand on Derek’s chest.
Derek lived in Chicago, he lived in Boston. This wouldn’t work. Derek chased Stiles’ mouth with his own, but Stiles evaded him, turning his head away.
“Did I misread this, because I’m pretty sure you kissed me,” Derek said, his hand on Stiles’ back rubbing circles around it. Stiles covered his face with his hand, nodding his head.
“I did, yeah. I did-- I just, you know, I’m thinking too much.”
“So stop,” Derek said, as if it were that simple. “We’re on a floor, its four in the morning, we’ve been drinking since what, three pm? Let go.” Stiles breathed out, nodding his head.
“My back’s gonna hurt tomorrow,” Stiles said as he leaned forwards again, kissing Derek.
“Right there with you,” Derek said into Stiles’ mouth. From the couch, Scott groaned.
“Don’t have sex with me in the room,” he called out.
“Dude,” Stiles hissed. “I wouldn’t--”
Stiles woke up to the smell of bacon, with a major side of hangover.
“Oh, god,” he said, holding his head as he attempted to open his eyes. Derek was no longer next to him, but in the kitchen, downing a glass of orange juice. Scott was still passed out on the couch, dead to the world.
“Come here, we have meds,” Derek said, shaking a bottle of advil.
“Not so loud,” Stiles groaned as he managed to stand up. He went to the bathroom first, splashing water on his face in hopes to help his pounding head. When he emerged, after gargling mouthwash that had been sitting there begging to be used, Derek handed him a glass of water and three pills.
“Thanks,” Stiles said as he popped them into his mouth then downed the entire glass, refilling it. “Oh, god.”
“You going to be okay?” Derek asked.
“Maybe after food,” Stiles said, looking at what Erica and Derek had been making. There was the pile of bacon, then pancakes. “Pancakes.”
“Yep, hangover cure pancakes,” Erica said with a smile and a wink. “My recipe.”
“I think I love you,” Stiles said as he leaned against the counter. “Too soon?”
“I think I said the same thing the first time I had them,” Derek admitted, giving Stiles that look that he did, something like fondness.
After Scott woke up, the five of them ate out on the deck, taking in the street below.
“So, shower, naps, then again?” Erica asked, raising her eyebrows at Scott and Stiles. They exchanged glances.
“Uh,” Stiles said, trying to communicate with Scott via telepathy. Scott nodded his head, then turned to Erica.
“Yeah, sounds good.”
“Come back when you’re ready to party hard,” Boyd said.
On their way back to the hotel, which they definitely decided to walk to, Stiles didn’t know what to think about the night before. When he explained his qualms to Scott, he only rolled his eyes.
“Look, maybe Derek’s right. You said you wanted to get laid, there he is, you can get laid.”
“Yeah but I want more, I think.”
“Well stop thinking, because this is Mardi Gras.”
After a quick shower and a quick jack, Stiles passed out until around three. They stopped at a place to grab some food to go, then a convenience store to pick up some chips and things for Erica and Boyd’s.
As they walked up, Boyd shouted down at them, waving them up. Stiles couldn’t help but think how weird it was how at home he felt, like he’d always been friends with the three of them. Much like the night before, they got drunk. They slept over, and Stiles made out with Derek until the two of them passed out on the floor again.
When they woke up, it was Fat Tuesday. The big day. They went back to their hotel and slept until two, showered, then met up with the group at a bar. Stiles didn’t feel like drinking. Day three, and he thought he would be sick if he even smelled Jack.
He drank water instead. It surprised him when Derek did the same.
“Why aren’t you drinking?” Stiles asked him when they stopped at their third bar of the day.
“Because you’re not,” Derek said, squeezing a lemon into his water, then sucking on his fingers.
“You don’t--” Stiles was distracted by Derek’s fingers in his mouth. “You don’t need to do that. Have fun with your friends.”
“I am having fun with my friends,” Derek said, leaning on the highboy they were sharing. “And if I’m drunk, then you’d be alone.”
“I’m used to being alone,” Stiles said, giving Derek a look.
“There’s no need to be,” Derek said before he kissed Stiles. Their first sober kiss and it had Stiles grasping at him, pulling him closer. He sighed into it as Derek’s mouth opened, his tongue pressing against Stiles’.
“Okay,” Stiles said when they both came up for air. “You’ve got a point.” Derek laughed, kissing Stiles once more.
Scott was well on his way to smashed by the fifth bar, and all Stiles wanted to do was take Derek to the hotel.
“Dude,” Stiles said, catching Scott’s attention while Derek was in the bathroom. “Would you judge me if Derek and I--”
“Get out, go get laid,” Scott said, shoving Stiles away from him. “Like, seriously. Just don’t do it in my bed, okay?”
“Not on your bed,” Stiles said. “Got it.”
When Derek returned, Stiles stalled. It was Scott who got antsy, kicking at Stiles beneath the table.
“Ouch, hey, stop it,” Stiles hissed. “What are we, twelve?”
“Why are you twelve?” Derek asked.
“Uh, do you want to get out of here?” Stiles asked, the least suave person he had ever met was himself and he could basically shove his own foot in his mouth if he tried. Instead of rolling his eyes, Derek grinned.
“Sure, if that’s what you want to do.”
“Yeah, it is,” Stiles said. “Would Boyd and Erica mind?”
“No,” Derek said, waving them off. “And Scott’s already by them, so he won’t be alone either.” Stiles watched as Scott did, in fact, go over to them, both he and Derek waved at them before they headed for the door.
Stiles couldn’t deny the fact that he was nervous. He was so nervous that his hand sweat as he held Derek’s on their way back to the hotel. Stiles wiped it on his jeans before he took the key card out of his pocket, unlocking the door to the room. It was clean, thankfully, because they hadn’t kept the do not disturb sign up.
He thought it would be awkward, but of course he had been thinking too much, because as soon as the door was shut behind them, Derek’s mouth was on his. Stiles went with it, pressing his body against Derek’s as they slowly made their way towards the beds. He hadn’t been paying attention, so when he fell down onto a bed, Derek on top of him, he laughed.
“We can’t,” Stiles said, his knees bent as Derek fit between them, his face wearing a confused expression. “This bed. We can’t be on this bed. It’s Scott’s.”
“Oh,” Derek said, relieved as his hand slid up Stiles’ torso, beneath the fabric of his shirt. “I thought you wanted to stop.”
“Nope, no stopping,” Stiles said, capturing Derek’s lips with his own, his teeth nibbling on Derek’s bottom lip before he ended the kiss.
“I promised him we wouldn’t fuck on his bed.”
“Did you, now?” Derek asked with a sly grin as his hand slid down and cupped Stiles’ ass, squeezing it.
“Yeah,” Stiles said, his legs spreading wider out of instinct.
“Then we should move,” Derek said, his nose scraping across Stiles’ cheek and neck. Stiles tilted his head back, his mouth open as he moaned. He pushed himself up by his elbows, finding Derek’s mouth once more. “Before I get you naked.”
“We could get naked in the moving process,” Stiles rambled. “Totally could.”
Derek helped him off the bed, where they both watched each other strip down to their boxer briefs, their clothes tossed haphazardly to the side, forgotten about as Stiles pressed Derek against his bed, straddling him as their mouths crashed together. He had a hand on Derek’s cheek, another against the mattress as Derek laid back against the bed, both hands on Stiles’ ass. Stiles canted his hips forward, his erection rubbing against Derek’s, the fabric giving him friction. He could feel how hard Derek was, and as Derek pressed a finger between Stiles’ ass cheeks, he couldn’t wait to be fucked by him.
Stiles moaned into Derek’s mouth as he moved his hips, rutting against him. It reminded him of being a teenager, of getting off like this, dry humping because anything more was practically unfathomable. But that was then, and now Stiles knew exactly what else could be done about his erection. He slipped his briefs down just enough to free his cock, head already wet with precome. Derek wrapped his fingers around it, stroking slowly as they kissed, open mouthed with quick swipes of their tongues.
“Condom?” Derek asked, his voice lower, rougher than when he normally spoke. Stiles nodded his head, his lips catching Derek’s once more before he got off the bed, stepping the rest of the way out of his briefs.
He dug through his shower bag, grabbing a small travel size container of lube, along with a condom. When he turned back towards the bed, Derek was there, stroking himself, his briefs tossed to the side. The sight was impressive. He hoisted himself up by an elbow, had a knee up with his foot flat on the bed, tilted to the side as the other leg dangled off the edge of the bed, his cock head disappearing and reappearing as he jacked off. Stiles wrapped a hand around his own erection as he made his way back over.
“How do you want to do this?” Derek asked as Stiles messed with the condom as he straddled Derek. Stiles stilled, his brain short circuiting for a second.
“I thought-- I thought you’d fuck me?” Stiles asked, now unsure. Derek mouthed at Stiles’ nipple, wrapping his hands around his torso, pulling him close as he hummed against Stiles’ skin.
“We can do that,” he conceded. Stiles laughed, throwing his head back as Derek mouthed at his neck, sucking and marking him. He could feel Derek’s cock against his own, the anticipation killing him as he moved his hips, rocking against it. “God, I’ve been thinking about what you’d look like sitting on my cock.” Stiles whimpered as Derek opened the lube, smearing it across his fingers. “The sounds you’d make.” Stiles groaned as Derek pressed a finger against his entrance, slicking it up before breaching him. Stiles clung to Derek, his fingers raking down Derek’s back as he rode Derek’s finger, moaning as he did so. “Just like that, god, you’re tight.”
“Fuck,” Stiles said, shoving himself down on Derek’s finger, shouting when he felt a second press inwards. “Yes, fuck, I can take it.”
“Yeah you can, look at you.” Stiles bit his lip at Derek’s admiration, the feel of his other hand caressing Stiles’ back as he fucked himself on Derek’s fingers. Derek had both feet on the floor as he sat up, letting Stiles straddle his lap. Stiles had both knees on the bed, holding onto Derek for leverage as Derek held another finger against his entrance. “Can you take another one for?” Stiles grunted, his mouth falling open at the stretch. He pushed Derek down against the bed so he could move easier, pressing his forehead against Derek’s as he rode Derek’s fingers. Stiles’ cock bounced, slapping against Derek’s stomach, smearing it with precome as he shut his eyes.
“Could you come just on my fingers? I bet you fucking could, look at you.”
“Fuck me,” Stiles moaned, biting down on his bottom lip. Derek pulled out of him, making Stiles moan out of desperation. He’d be embarrassed if it hadn’t been for the fact that he really fucking needed Derek’s cock inside of him. Derek ripped open the condom with his teeth, then rolled it on effortlessly.
“You going to fuck yourself on my cock?” Derek asked as Stiles nodded his head, lining himself up as Derek held his dick up, helping Stiles as he slowly sank down on it. Stiles held onto Derek’s chest as he moved slowly, rolling his hips against him.
“Fuck,” Stiles said, his fingers digging into Derek’s skin.
“Yeah, fuck me,” Derek said, sliding his hands up and down Stiles’ thighs. Stiles bounced, he slid, he fucked himself on Derek’s cock, filling himself, going at his own pace. Derek’s hands roamed over his body, squeezing his ass, pinching his nipples, holding onto his waist until Stiles slowed to a pace that he couldn’t handle. “I’m going to fuck you now,” Derek said, looking up at Stiles. Stiles nodded his head, holding onto Derek’s wrists as he gripped Stiles’ waist. Stiles lifted himself ever so slightly, allowing Derek room to piston his hips upwards, controlling the pace.
“Jesus--” Stiles shouted, his mouth unable to close as Derek fucked him, hard. The pace was relentless as he fucked up into him, his grip on his waist bruising. “Fuck.” Stiles reached for his own cock, jacking himself off, fast, riding out his climax that hit him so fast he hadn’t had time to prepare for it. He spilled come over Derek’s chest, onto his own hand as it came out in spurts, his entire body shaking from it. Derek slowed his pace, holding himself inside Stiles as his back arched, his eyes closing as he groaned, coming inside him.
“Fuck, you’re a good fuck. Just like I thought you’d be,” Derek said as Stiles leaned over, kissing him. “
“Oh, god, well I’m glad I didn’t disappoint,” Stiles joked, pressing his head against the mattress to the right of Derek’s head, his arms crowding around Derek, his fingers somehow managing to card through Derek’s hair as he pulled out of Stiles, his hands roaming over Stiles’ body as they lay there, unmoving.
“So, room service?” Derek asked. “Because I don’t know about you, but I don’t plan on leaving.”
“That sounds really fucking good, actually,” Stiles said. “You call down, I’ll grab a wash cloth, we need it.”
“Great. Want anything in particular?”
“I have no preferences, just want something with protein,” Stiles said as he got off Derek, his legs wobbly from kneeling for so long, his ass aching for obvious reasons. He couldn’t help but smile as he walked into the bathroom. When he looked into the mirror, he liked what he saw. He couldn’t remember the last time he looked so... happy.
By the time Derek left on Wednesday morning, Stiles was so sore he felt like he had actually ran a marathon. His muscles ached with each movement, and the loss of Derek’s body heat in the bed next to him was apparent. Scott had come in at some point, sometime near dawn, and had passed out. He and Derek had been curled up at the time, napping between rounds of the best sex Stiles had ever had.
Derek hadn’t said anything as he got dressed, but he did kiss Stiles one more time before he quietly made his way out the door. Stiles fell back asleep shortly after, waking up in the late afternoon to the sound of Scott getting sick in the bathroom.
“Rough night?” Stiles asked as Scott walked back into the room, wiping his mouth before he collapsed back onto his bed.
“Ugh,” Scott said. “I went shot for shot with Boyd.”
“Dude,” Stiles said, hugging a pillow close as he watched Scott face plant onto the mattress. “He’s so big, there’s no way--”
“Drunk me thought it was doable.” Stiles snorted, rolling back over to Derek’s side of the bed. He was naked under the sheets, still, which served as a reminder that Stiles had gotten laid.
“Holy shit,” Stiles said, sitting up.
“What?” Scott asked.
“What day-- what day did Derek say he was leaving?” Stiles asked.
“I don’t know, man,” Scott groaned, sounding pathetic. “Don’t make me think right now. Inside voices,” he whispered harshly.
Stiles still didn’t have Derek’s number. He scrambled off the bed, managing to pull on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, quickly gargling mouthwash before he ran out the door, leaving Scott to sleep off his hangover.
The streets were a mess, mostly deserted from the night’s revelry, as Stiles made his way to Erica and Boyd’s. He hesitated before he knocked on their door, but gave in after weighing his options. He had to make sure Derek was still in town, that he hadn’t just left.
Erica opened the door, her hair done up in a messy bun.
“Stiles,” she said, arching an eyebrow.
“Is he-- is Derek still here?” He asked.
“Yeah,” she said, opening the door further. “He’s on the couch.”
“Thanks,” Stiles said as he entered the house, taking his shoes off by the door before heading into the living room. Derek was, in fact, on the couch, asleep. Stiles let out a sigh of relief as he tugged on his hair.
“Come here,” Erica said, indicating for Stiles to follow her with a finger gesture. Stiles did. He followed her into the kitchen, where she poured them both a cup of coffee. “Spill.”
“Spill what?” Stiles asked, his voice hushed.
“Why’d you run over here like you thought he’d be gone?” Erica asked, taking a sip of her coffee after she added two sugars. Stiles stirred his, adding both milk and fancy ass creamer with caramel flavor. He let out a sigh as he shrugged.
“I thought he left, you know, without saying anything.”
“Uh huh,” Erica said. “Where is that stemming from? I mean, I don’t know about you, but from what I’ve seen, you’re both nuts over each other.”
“It seems a little too good to be true,” Stiles admitted. “Derek’s great, perfect even.” Erica snorted.
“Derek is far from perfect, but continue.”
“I just don’t know where we stand.”
“Like, are you a one night stand?” Erica asked, giving Derek a glance.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Do you want to be?” Erica asked.
“If that’s all that’s on the table, yes, but if there was another option, then I’d take that. I’d take whatever was offered.”
“Do you know much about Derek?” Erica asked, leaning on the counter, her eyes fixed on Stiles.
“Not-- not really? I mean, we met in Chicago, months ago, but I never thought I’d see him again? I thought I missed my chance.”
“And here you are,” Erica said with a smile.
“And here I am, and I got my chance. We had a good time, I just-- what kind of future is there, really?”
“Well,” Erica said with a shrug. “It’s what you’ll make of it. Don’t go in defeated, it won’t work. If Derek wants something, he’ll go for it.”
“Yeah,” Stiles said, looking to Derek, his lip caught between his teeth.
“How about we make breakfast crepes,” Erica said, grinning. “Derek’ll flip.”
“Okay,” Stiles said, shrugging. “I don’t know how--”
“No problem, I’ll teach you.”
So, Stiles and Erica made crepes. Some with nutella and bananas, others with powdered sugar and strawberries. Boyd was the first to emerge, stretching up to the sky, looking even more massive than he usually did.
“So I heard Scott drank you under the table,” Stiles joked.
“Oh, he tried,” Boyd laughed as he grabbed one of the crepes. “He tried real hard.”
“What do we have here?” Derek asked, yawning as he joined them in the kitchen. “Are those crepes?” He asked, mid yawn, winking at Stiles afterwards. “My favorite.”
“Stiles made the strawberry ones,” Erica pointed out. Stiles thought it was obvious, since they looked, well, weird. Derek picked up one of the strawberry ones, making Stiles smile. Stiles tried one of his own, and one of Erica’s. They made them small for that reason, and Stiles could tell that Erica was the real connoisseur with them.
After they were done, Derek took Stiles by the hand and lead him out onto the porch.
“I was surprised to see you,” Derek said as he leaned on the railing, eyes squinting in the sunlight.
“I shouldn’t have just shown up, I know,” Stiles said. “I just didn’t know when you were leaving--”
“Tomorrow,” Derek said. “And it’s not a problem, Stiles. I just thought you’d still be sleeping.”
“Oh,” Stiles breathed. “I mean, we’re leaving, too.”
“I figured, now that the party’s over.”
“Yeah,” Stiles said, joining Derek by resting his arms on the railing. He could feel the tension between the two of them, a sort of awkwardness that came with not knowing. “Listen, I should--”
“I like you,” Derek said, catching Stiles’ eye. They were leaning close together, their shoulders almost touching. Stiles smiled, his eyes falling to Derek’s lip.
“I like you, too.”
“I had fun last night, hell, I’ve had fun all week. You and Scott are a riot, but last night was something else.”
“Yeah,” Stiles said, breaking eye contact.
“I’m not saying that I’d be willing to move across the country, because I’m not, but seeing you again would be something I’d be willing to work out.”
“Really?” Stiles asked. “You want to try long distance?” Derek shrugged.
“It’s that or we say ‘that was a good fuck’ and move on.”
“It was a good fuck, but I’m not ready to move on,” Stiles said, adamant. “I’d like to, you know,” Stiles coughed. “At least try a couple more positions.” Derek laughed, then leaned forward, kissing Stiles on the lips. It was short, chaste, unlike their other kisses. This promised more, of things to come.
“Such a kodiak moment,” Erica said, bringing them back to the moment. Derek flipped her off, but made no move to separate himself from Stiles. “So we were thinking hot wings and some beer pong?”
“Oh god, beer,” Stiles moaned. “Let me call Scott.” He stood up, surprised to find himself leaning against Derek, like he was meant to, as Derek wrapped his arms around him. Stiles put the phone up to his ear, listening to it ring as he waited for Scott to pick up.
“Huh,” Scott said into the phone, obviously still groggy.
“Come to Erica and Boyds. They’re making wings and we’re playing Beer Pong.”
“No beer,” Scott groaned. Stiles agreed, but he wasn’t leaving Derek’s side, not until the next day, at least.
“Tell him we have Cards Against Humanity,” Boyd called out.
“Did you hear that?” Stiles asked.
“I’m gonna shower first,” Scott said, then hung up.
“You had him at ‘Cards Against Humanity’,” Stiles said as he walked inside, Derek trailing behind him. They made themselves comfortable on the couch and for the first time in a long while, Stiles felt like he had something to hold onto. Someone.
They flipped through the channels, Boyd landing on ESPN2 where two men talked about sports. Stiles wasn’t about to complain, not when he would be the one making the wings.
“When’s your next marathon?” Derek asked. Stiles hummed, thinking about it.
“Three months? It’s in Ohio.”
“I’d join, but it’s yours and Scott’s thing.” Stiles wanted to protest, but Derek was right; it was he and Scott’s thing.
“We could do a thing, have a thing I mean,” Stiles said. “Like a weekend trip, maybe.”
“Like where?” Derek asked, his voice quiet, lips against Stiles’ ear. Stiles looked to Boyd, who was paying attention to his phone instead of at them. Erica was in the shower, so he didn’t have to worry about too much PDA. Stiles turned his head, kissing Derek on the lips.
“Anywhere. I don’t have much vacation time--”
“Weekends sound perfect.”
When Scott arrived, freshly showered with wet hair and a big water bottle in his hand, they all sat out on the porch, relaxing as Boyd grilled the wings. Erica made a dip with ground beef and cheese with salsa, which Stiles thought he could eat the entire bowl of if he tried hard enough. There was a game on in the background, of which Stiles hadn’t even been paying attention to.
They played Cards Against Humanity for a few hours, until the sun started to go down.
“So, how do you want to do this?” Stiles asked later, when he and Scott were about to head out.
“Well, having your number would be a good start,” Derek said. Stiles took his phone out, happy to finally exchange numbers with him. “And as for tonight, I don’t think sexiling Scott again would be good form.”
“Yeah, let’s not sexile Scott,” Scott said, crossing his arms.
“What time is your flight? We’re both flying out at different times tomorrow, Scott’s is at 10:30, mine is at noon.”
“Mine’s at 11:45,” Derek said. “So--”
“We can drive you, if you want,” Stiles suggested.
“Sounds great, Erica? Boyd?” Derek asked, looking over his shoulder at them.
“Yeah, beats us having to take him,” Boyd said from his chair, eyes intent on the game. Stiles grinned.
“We’ll pick you up at 8:15?” Stiles suggested. “You know, because security...”
“Perfect,” Derek said. “See you then.”
As Stiles and Scott walked back to their hotel, Scott punched him in the arm.
“Smooth, Stiles. Really smooth.”
“Shut up,” Stiles said, shoving him back. “I wanted to make sure I got to see him again.”
“Like he would have just left it at that,” Scott said, rolling his eyes.
“I don’t know,” Stiles said, indignant.
“Good job getting laid, but I hope to god they cleaned our room. Stank like sex.”
“Yeah like our dorm didn’t in college. You and Allison, 24/7 when I wasn’t in there. Actually, you know what? I should have sexiled you for all the times I had to go do my homework in the common room.”
“Hey!” Scott said, laughing. “Whatever.”
Stiles drove to the airport. They dropped off Scott before they took the car back to the rental drop-off. He and Scott hugged for an unusual amount of time, rocking back and forth because that’s just how they did it.
“I’m gonna miss you,” Scott said truthfully.
“Same here. I’ll call when I touch down.”
After he and Derek dropped the car off, they took a shuttle to the check-in. Once they were through security, which never takes as long as they say it will, they stood between their two concourses, bags in hand.
“We still have, like, forever until your flight,” Stiles pointed out. It was a little after nine.
“Breakfast?” Derek suggested. Breakfast turned out to be McDonalds. Their coffee wasn’t half bad, but looking at the grease filled menu made Stiles gag.
Derek got a breakfast wrap and an iced mocha, while Stiles rocked the coffee. They sat there in silence for a bit, Stiles weighing his thoughts.
“How is this going to work?” Stiles asked. Derek shrugged.
“However you want it to. Phone calls, sexting, facetime--”
“Is that what you want? Coming from your own hand while I watch?” Stiles asked.
“When you say it like that, yes,” Derek said, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not the kind of
guy who needs constant reassurance, or needs to get laid every few days. Before you, I hadn’t had sex in almost a year.” Stiles scoffed. “I’m serious.”
“Really?” Stiles asked. He thought he had the dry spell, and his last time had been maybe a few weeks before the marathon in Chicago. “I mean, you’re just really-- you look so good.”
“So do you,” Derek pointed out. “When you don’t look like a college kid.” Stiles stuck his tongue out at him like the mature adult he was. “Mine was a bit more of a voluntary sabbatical. Too many fucked up relationships in a row for my tastes.”
“What changed?” Stiles asked, leaning forward.
“At the marathon? But that was just a happenstance--”
“That we met at a bar, I saw you at the marathon, and then dinner, and now here? I don’t think so,” Derek said, shaking his head. “That’s fate.”
“It’s happenstance,” Stiles said, his face falling. “Coincidence.”
“Either way,” Derek said, pushing the thought aside. “You’re here now, and I don’t want to let you go if you want to try to make this work.”
“I do,” Stiles decided. “Yeah, it’s worth a shot.” Derek smiled, reaching his hand across the table. Stiles took it.
“Good. Now, how do you feel about airport sex?”
Derek had Stiles pressed against the bathroom wall. Stiles felt bad about taking the handicapped bathroom for all of two seconds before Derek’s hands were on him, his skin on fire as they locked the door.
Stiles pawed at Derek’s clothes, trying to get them off of him as Derek kissed him. He had his legs wrapped around Derek’s waist, Derek holding onto his thighs as he pinned Stiles to the wall.
“Fuck,” Stiles said as Derek’s teeth raked across his neck.
“I thought of a problem,” Stiles gasped, pinching Derek’s nipples as his back arched.
“What?” Derek asked, his mouth on Stiles’ neck, marking him. He could feel Derek’s erection pressing against him. Stiles groaned.
“No condom, no lube,” Stiles said as Derek slowly let him down. Derek let out a growl, his jaw clenching. Stiles laughed as he cupped Derek’s face, kissing him. “Not a problem. There’s other things,” Stiles said as he got down on his knees, working Derek’s jeans open, taking his cock into his mouth. He hummed around it, his tongue playing with the underside of it before sucking him down. Derek’s hands went to the back of his head, cradling it as Stiles bobbed his head, his eyes closing as he tasted him.
“I knew the second I saw you swallow that water down that you could take cock.”
“Oh?” Stiles said as he gasped for breath, his fingers wrapped around Derek’s dick, stroking him easily because of Stiles’ spit coating him. Stiles sniffed, licking his lips before licking the underside of Derek’s cock before taking him back into his mouth once more.
“And how do I fare?” Stiles asked, moments later, his lips red and swollen.
“Like I said,” Derek praised. “I knew you could take it.” Stiles grinned up at him, then swallowed him down again.
Stiles ended up swallowing as he came down Stiles’ throat; there was no where else for it to go. Derek brought Stiles to his feet, shoving his jeans out of the way as he pressed him against the wall once more, jacking him off as he kissed his lips until Stiles came with a shout against Derek’s open mouth.
Derek licked Stiles’ come off his fingers before washing his hands. Stiles splashed water on his face, trying to make it look like he hadn’t just sucked cock. It was no use, though.
When they exited the bathroom they got dirty looks, but there was no avoiding it. Blowing Derek in the airport was worth it. They held hands on the way to Derek’s concourse. They sat next to each other, with Stiles’ head on Derek’s shoulder as they waited for Derek’s plane to start boarding.
“I have a cat,” Stiles said. “His name is Freckles, and he doesn’t like to be pet.”
“I didn’t peg you for a cat person,” Derek said, his thumb brushing over Stiles’ knuckles. “Cora has two dogs, so they’re basically mine, too. We share an apartment.”
“Really? With your sister?”
“Yeah,” Derek said, looking down at Stiles, his voice quiet. “After my last break up, she moved in with me to help with the rent. We get along pretty well, so she hasn’t felt like moving out yet.”
“Huh,” Stiles said, staring out ahead of him. He liked learning more about Derek.
“Plus, she loves doing dishes, so--”
“Who actually likes doing dishes?”
“She stress cleans.”
“I stress eat,” Stiles said. “If my metabolism wasn’t so high...”
“I stress cook,” Derek said. “Nothing like chopping vegetables to relieve stress.”
“What do you like to cook?” Stiles asked just as the flight attendant came over the speaker, indicating it was time for Derek’s flight to start boarding. “No,” Stiles said as Derek tried to get up. “I refuse.” Derek smiled at him, kissing him on the lips.
“I have to go, and so do you. Your gate is across the airport.”
“Why so logical?” Stiles said as he joined Derek in standing. They both stood there, staring at each other. “So, talk on the phone?” Stiles asked.
“Yeah,” Derek told him, leaning in for one more kiss. “Facetime you tonight?”
“Deal,” Stiles said. He watched Derek stand in line to board, then made his way to his own gate.
Stiles returned to his apartment to find Freckles laying on the couch, not even acknowledging his existence.
“Welcome home, Stiles,” Stiles said to himself. He had no groceries, left a load of laundry in the drier, and the dishwasher was full. Instead of doing anything, he fell into his own bed and called Scott.
Then he called Derek. They talked for four hours about nothing and everything.
That wasn’t all, either. They texted while Stiles was at work, they added each other on a running app so they could keep track of each other’s mileage, they facetimed and skyped. Stiles was in a relationship. Granted, it was a long distance relationship, but it was a relationship nonetheless. The day after they friended each other on facebook, he got a friend request from Cora. Then suddenly she was following him on instagram where she posted a lot of pictures of her dogs, flowers, and Derek taking naps. Stiles liked every single one of those pictures.
It was an insight to Derek’s life, the life he didn’t get to see but was somehow still a part of.
Sexting wasn’t really his thing, he found out. He’d rather be talking to Derek on the phone while they jerked off to each other’s voices. It had been awkward at first, but after the fourth week, Stiles had it down to a science.
They made plans for a weekend getaway, a trip to Cape Hatteras, North Carolina, in the summer. With an itinerary full of walks on the beach, jet skiing, and lighthouse visits, Stiles couldn’t wait to be able to spend time with Derek.
It was the longest flight of his life, or so it felt.
In order to get to Cape Hatteras, Stiles had to fly into Norfolk, Va. He and Derek had to rent a car, drive another 100 miles to the actual island they were staying at. Normally, Stiles would think it was a horrible way to spend a weekend, but he’d be with Derek, so he was all for it, especially when Derek said it was one of his favorite beaches.
Stiles waited outside the car rental, keys already in hand, bags packed in the trunk as he waited for Derek to call that he was off his plane. Once he was, Stiles would drive to the terminal to get him. It felt like an eternity, but as soon as his phone buzzed with Derek’s name lighting up the screen, Stiles broke out into a grin.
“Hey,” Stiles said, getting into the car and turning on the engine.
“Just landed,” Derek said. “I’m still on the plane, sitting about halfway back. I didn’t check my luggage, so I should be outside soon.”
“I’ll be there in a forest green Nissan Sentra,” Stiles said.
“Can’t wait to see you.”
When Stiles pulled up to the Pick up for American Airlines, Derek was there, waiting for him with his bag over his shoulder. Stiles put the car in park, then got out in order to hug him for the first time in months.
“Oh my god,” Stiles said, burying his face against Derek’s neck as Derek wrapped his arm around him. “I’m so glad we’re here.”
“Me, too,” Derek said, kissing Stiles on the lips. “Come on, we don’t want to make everyone behind you mad.”
“I don’t care about them,” Stiles said, his chest constricting. He had been alone too long, waited for months to have Derek in his arms again. “They can wait.” Derek smiled, kissing him again. They had only just begun to date, but Stiles knew they could make it work, that their relationship could work. He’d fight for it, the distance be damned. He’d make the most of the time they were given.
He had Derek and he wasn’t going to let him go.