"Look, we have to do something before the mice move in and start up their own ecosystem on your head!"
Possibly, Stiles was looking to start a fight on a boring Thursday night with his unwelcome houseguest, but he also had a point. Derek wasn't living in the woods anymore, and everyday his hair edged past Robert Pattinson and closer to bizarre. Even if he wasn't on the most wanted list, little old ladies would start running away because he looked like a punk greaser out to shove them into the street, kicking puppies on his way to the bar.
"Are you sure you've done this before?" Derek asked, sounding as if Stiles was trying to convince him to volunteer for brain surgery. After a couple of days staying with Stiles, the sneer had permanently affixed itself on Derek's lip. Nighttime was a permanently icy affair.
"Yes, I've done this every month since-" since my mother died. Stiles continued the thought, but out loud he said, "since forever. So stop being such a pussy."
Derek crossed his arms over his chest and leaned into the dresser. He gave Stiles an obvious once over. "I don't want to end up looking like you," he said.
Heaving a sigh, Stiles picked up one of the attachments that snapped onto the end of the shears. "Hey, I look awesome. But, see? With these I can do different lengths so you can keep your frat-boy, reverse duck-tale in the front," he answered, almost reasonably sure he could deliver on that promise. How hard could it be?
"Fine, whatever makes you happy," Derek said, slouching down on the computer chair. He ran his fingers through his hair, leaving it even more a mess in the wake of his hand, and shrugged out of his jacket. "Just get it over with."
"Yes, because catering to your body image is on my top ten list," Stiles muttered, knowing Derek could hear him anyway. He put one of the longest guards on the clippers and stepped up behind Derek. Immediately, he saw they were going to have a problem. He touched the base of Derek's skull and wrinkled his nose. "When was the last time you washed this?"
Scowling, Derek answered, "It's not like I had running water at my house."
"Uh-huh," Stiles said, feeling grit catch on his fingers and wondering if he'd been too late to head off the mice. He wiped his hand off on his jeans, and actually thought about werewolf physiology, pursing his lips. "It looks like you get up every morning and slather in another handful of gel. Don't think I didn't notice you stealing from my stash. Do you even sweat? Like a human, or do you have to regulate your body temperature some other way?"
"I sweat some," Derek said, getting defensive, "but I don't smell."
"Nobody said you did," Stiles said, chewing on this inside of his cheek to keep from continuing. Despite popular belief, he did on occasion know how to keep his mouth shut. Derek smelled like nature, like lightning caught and salty waves, wild. Stiles loved it. "You're going to have to wash it before I can cut it."
"You do it."
"You want me to wash your hair?"
"Yeah, you're going to wash my hair."
"I'm gonna wash your hair."
Derek scowled, snatching the towel from the back of the door and shoving Stiles in front of him. "I hate it when you do that," he said, marching them out of Stiles' room and down the stairs. He was annoyed enough that he forgot the third step from the top shrieked at contact, and stepped on it, wincing immediately at the shrill pitch.
"No you don't, you like it when I include you in my verbal tics," Stiles said, juggling the bag, the attachments, and the shears so he wouldn't drop them until they got to the kitchen table. "It makes you feel like you've got a friend."
"I hate you."
Stiles made a noise in the back of his throat that would hopefully convey what an utter liar Derek was. After arranging everything on the table, Stiles pulled one of the high backed chairs over to the sink and turned the warm water on. It always took longer for their ancient water heater to pump the good stuff all the way to the kitchen.
"Sit here, and wait for the water to warm up," Stiles said, patting the chair until Derek sat down. "I'm going to go find some shampoo that won't make you smell like my dad. I don't think Old Spice is really your thing."
He thought he remembered Scott leaving some of his uber salon product there the last time he'd spent the night. They kept it in the downstairs bathroom so it only took him a few seconds to grab it. When he came back into the kitchen, he had to take a deep breath.
Derek had tipped the chair back with his legs spread across the seat barely touching the floor. His head hovered over the sink, eyes closed, and his frown firmly in place. The column of his throat curved down into the vee of his t-shirt. Stiles saw the second Derek tensed and realized he was back in the kitchen. He quickly cut Derek off from anything he could say.
"If we're going to do this, you have to pretend to be normal," Stiles said, doing a passable job at keeping his voice from cracking like a thirteen year old.
"I am normal," Derek snarled, jerking forward until all four legs of his chair crashed down on the ground.
Stiles rolled his eyes, and crossed the distance between them. He tested the water and flicked the cold on a little higher so he wouldn't scald Derek with the sprayer. "I mean listening to my heartbeat and digestive tract or smelling my toe jam or whatever," he said, pushing Derek back toward the sink. "I mean, any involuntary reactions that the average guy might or might not have are not my fault, and you're not allowed to beat me senseless for them. Just pretend to be someone without wolfy superpowers."
"Fine, let's get this over with."
This whole thing might be a little harder to deal with than Stiles had originally planned. Derek's head was heavy when Stiles lifted it to slide a potholder between his neck at the edge of the cabinet. He felt his dick swell as Derek let Stiles manipulate his head under the soft spray of water. He had to clear his throat once before he could ask, "Is that too hot?"
"No," Derek's voice sounded scratchier than usual. "It feels good."
"Okay," Stiles said, concentrating on getting Derek's head completely wet. He twisted the spigot and used his free hand to comb through the longer hair on top. The water ran dark for a few seconds as he got the worst of the grime out, but it cleared quicker than he would have guessed. He squirted the shampoo into his palm and massaged it in starting at Derek's hairline. Vague memories of his mom washing his hair surfaced, and Stiles scratched his fingernails gently into Derek's scalp like she used to do.
He bit his bottom lip and tried very hard to think pure thoughts. Getting Derek to wash his hair was a victory he didn't want to ruin by showing Derek what a pervert Stiles was. Just because he'd started jerking off twice as much in the shower since he let Derek crash on his floor, didn't mean Derek actually wanted Stiles to whip it out right there to come on his chest. It made excellent spank-bank material though, so he filed it away for later.
The shampoo smelled like mint, something that left a little bit of heat in his nose, and it smelled awesome on Derek in a way it never really fit Scott. Stiles poured more directly in Derek's hair and kept massaging it in, working up a lather. He followed the contours of Derek's skull, taking his time because God knew the next time Derek would be in the mood to put up with Stiles' wacky hygiene concerns.
After losing himself in the repetition of motion, it took Stiles a little while to notice when Derek started wolfing out. At first, he just watched, fascinated and still. Usually, it happened too fast and as Stiles was running for his life for him to see much. Derek's hair grew longer and coarser under Stiles' fingers. It spread slowly down his sideburns, puffing out while his forehead bumped and his lower jaw widened to make room for his larger teeth.
Teeth that had often been threatened at Stiles for lesser offenses than coping a feel.
"Um," Stiles fidgeted, realizing that he'd rocked his hips forward, rubbing his dick into the side of the chair. His thigh burned hot pressed against Derek's arm, "your hair is growing."
Derek grumbled and jerked his head quickly from side to side. He rolled his shoulders to let some of his tension melt away. His hair smoothed back and his forehead returned to its normal Cro-Magnon status. It might have been Stiles imagination, or possibly wishful thinking, that made him glance down at Derek's lap to see if the bulge between his legs was bigger.
It totally was.
Stiles angled the sprayer and worked the shampoo out, watching the bubbles circle the drain. He carded through Derek's hair a minute longer, tugging lightly when a lock curled around his fingers. Soaking wet, and in the dim light, Derek's hair looked jet black, even the stubble treading dangerously close to beard that covered the lower half of his face.
Before he could think better of it, or remember all the awesome things he'd miss out on by not having all his fingers, Stiles traced his knuckles against the grain of Derek's stubble. "You want me to deal with this mess too?" he offered, turning off the water with his other hand.
"As if I would let you anywhere near my throat with a razor," Derek eyes snapped open, and he had Stiles wrist in his hand before Stiles saw him move. He squeezed, but not anywhere as hard as he could, not to hurt.
"What about a safety razor?"
Derek jerked Stiles until he lost his balance and ended up in Derek's lap. "Do you really want to talk about razors?" Derek asked, barely waiting for Stiles to shake his head with his mouth still open in surprise. "I won't let you fall."
They still balanced on the chair propped against the counter on its back legs. Derek pulled Stiles' leg up and over, until he full on straddled Derek's lap, hands on Derek's chest to keep from falling forward. His thighs splayed around Derek's ribs, trembling as he tried to hold his weight up on his toes.
"Relax, Stilinski," Derek growled, reaching down and jerking Stiles' ankles until he fell back against Derek's thighs. "I can take it."
"What are we…I mean, why did you… What?" Stiles just let the words go, assuming that somehow they would make a coherent whole by themselves. Water dripped down the planes of Derek's face, soaking his t-shirt, and flattening his hair over his forehead. It looked so wrong that Stiles had to fix it, using his fingers to mold it into Derek's signature faux-hawk.
Derek moved into Stiles' touch like a cat. Like a big, hot cat with a big, hot dick rocking into the vee of Stiles' legs without a hint of shame. Stiles bit his lip and unlocked his elbow, letting his weight shift down until he settled on Derek's groin. His dick ached, thrumming with blood, instantly harder and hotter from feeling Derek under him.
"Look, you tell me right now if I've got this wrong," Derek rumbled, fingers digging into Stiles' hips, impossibly wide and hot through the denim of his jeans. "I'll go and we'll never talk about this again."
"Are you kidding me?" Stiles dug his knees tighter into Derek's ribs in case he tried to buck Stiles off. "You're all I've thought about."
A blink later, Derek's eyes glowed blue and his thumbs brushed up under Stiles' shirt. "I could hear you," he said, swallowing thickly. His hips jerked in small thrusts, rocking against Stiles. "Every time you beat off in the shower or humped your mattress, and I couldn't even touch myself because I knew it would only end by bending you over the nearest flat surface and fucking you stupid."
Heat flared through Stiles' body, heat and fear that soured his stomach. "Derek, I don't think- I mean, I'm not ready to," he stuttered, embarrassed and aching that he had to be such a moron when this might be his only shot. "Y'know."
"Okay. It's okay," Derek immediately hushed him. He moved one hand up to Stiles' shoulder, tugging him down. His hands flexed, twitching like he couldn't help it. "Kiss me. I'll stop whenever you want to. I promise."
Stiles leaned down, trying to hold Derek's eyes, but he dropped his gaze to Derek's mouth and licked his own lips. He was about three seconds away from hyperventilating and he wished he had some kind of leverage that didn't come from Derek's body. It would be just like him to screw this up. He slid down as he leaned over, pressing belly to belly and chest to chest.
He tilted his head and closed his mouth over Derek's bottom lip. That's what they did in the movies. Derek's stubble burned against his chin, rubbing as Derek opened his mouth wider, trying to catch Stiles' lips. Everything changed in those short five seconds, and he finally understood why Scott went completely brainless any time Allison was in sight. He melted when Derek brushed his tongue across Stiles mouth.
The chair creaked loudly, and Stiles jerked up surprised, unbalancing them. One second, he was falling, and then Derek had him, jerking them both up and to the side as the chair broke in two. He panted, wrapping his legs around Derek's waist as he looked at the chair and tried to guess how many milliseconds it took Derek's reflexes to kick in. He craned his neck and leaned out to check out the damage; a wrecked chair and scuff marks on the linoleum. The good news was, they hadn't had matching chairs for years since Stiles started his awkward phase.
"Stiles, damn it."
Stiles flinched. "Sorry," he said, trying to slide down Derek's body like a fire pole so he could go hide his embarrassment elsewhere. "Sorry, I didn't mean to."
Derek pressed him hard against the counter until the edge jabbed in Stiles' lower back. His arms were like steel, holding Stiles. "Stop wiggling, you moron," he griped, breathing into Stiles' neck. "Be still for once in your life."
Of course, with those words ricocheting through his brains, Stiles couldn't suppress his shivers. The water still dripping from Derek's hair was cold, sliding between their bodies and down Derek's back. Stiles adjusted his grip around Derek's shoulders and kissed Derek's neck softly, not much more than a peck.
Derek boosted Stiles a little higher to set him on the counter. He didn't back away from the vee of Stiles' thighs, and he kept kneading higher until Stiles pushed them back, uncomfortable again. Derek heaved a sigh, and leaned in for a chaste kiss. "Do you still want to cut my hair?" he asked.
"I can do that," Stiles said, surprised at how deep his voice sounded. He grabbed the towel next to him, and wrapped it around the back of Derek's head, fluffing it over Derek's hair. He scooted closer, being careful not to jerk as he ruffled the towel, catching a drip before it slid down Derek's cheek. "Is this going to be weird now?"
"You're always weird."
"Yeah, but I mean, what is this?" Stiles asked, losing the words he wanted as soon as he grabbed them from the jumbled mess in his brain. He sounded like a girl. His cheeks burned, but he couldn't help continuing, "You sleep on my floor and I washed your hair, and we haven't even gone for coffee or anything yet."
Peeking out from a fold under the towel, Derek's eyes were back to their normal off green. He cocked his head and put his hands palm down on the counter, bracketing Stiles. "You want to date me?" he asked.
"What's wrong with dating me? I'm awesome," Stiles said, getting angry. He tried to bring up his knee in Derek's chest and roughly pulled the towel down on Derek's face.
"I meant me, Stiles," Derek snarled, shaking off the towel and making his hair stand up even worse. He easily settled Stiles' limbs again. "I'll take you wherever you want to go."
"You're gonna take me wherever I want to go?"
Derek rolled his eyes and caught Stiles' open mouth in a wet, dirty kiss.
Breathless, Stiles pulled away and hid his face in Derek's neck. He pulled Derek closer even though he felt bad for stringing him along. He was sixteen, everything made him think about sex, but when he had the chance, he shied away. Hopefully, Derek would give him a few days to sort everything out before he called Stiles a total loser.
"Let's start with the kitchen table, Mullet Boy," Stiles said, tugging Derek's hair until he picked Stiles up and carried him over to the table and his shears.