Girls didn’t really do it for him. There was Lydia of course but Stiles viewed her as more of an exception. Lydia was Lydia. A man would be crazy not to want her or, apparently, a werewolf because Scott said no and last Stiles checked he was the crazy one in that particular friendship, and Jackson said no, and Derek. Derek just glared at Lydia until she ran away that last full moon but she got the message and so did Stiles because he was just a few trees away and where was his Adderall again, because he had a point damn it.
Ah yes. Girls didn’t really do it for him. Guys on the other hand…
Stiles couldn’t remember the last time he didn’t jack off to visuals of Danny and (or) Jackson tackling each other (or him) on the Lacrosse field. Sometimes he even thought of Scott, or Derek, or Mr Argent, or on one horrifying occasion Peter Hale, but he was cool with that. Being gay, or bi, or whatever the hell a virgin who jacked off to guys and Lydia Martin could be, was normal. Not as normal in Beacon Hills admittedly where his dad had to deal with gay bashers and the KKK on a semi-regular basis, but nobody was about to lynch him (he hoped) if he was discrete about it. He was just another normal (kind of) gay guy. Like Danny except shorter and weedier and generally less awesome.
So if he wanted to ask another guy out he could as long as he researched them thoroughly to ensure they had absolutely no links to any known gay bashing and (or) racist groups, and were in fact gay and attracted to him of course. Stiles was a master researcher; there was no way he could have messed that part up. Except maybe he had because Derek Hale was glaring like Stiles had told him he’d wanted to bang his sister’s decomposing corpse or something.
“I know it’s a surprise,” Stiles said awkwardly looking at the white flowers he’d bought to try and soften Derek up. “I mean look at me. Nobody thinks I’m gay. I think it’s a Stilinski thing, you know? Like one look at us and people automatically assume we’re virile baby making…”
“If you value your life do not finish that sentence,” Derek said at last his eyes boring into Stiles’. At least they weren’t red. Stiles counted that as a plus.
“So,” Stiles said after a brief but excruciating pause. “I guess that’s a no?”
“I’m a werewolf, an Alpha. What part of that makes you think I’m boyfriend material?” Derek said ‘boyfriend’ how Scott said ‘Peter Hale’ or how Derek also said ‘Kate Argent’ which, if Stiles were honest with himself, hurt.
“I’ll have you know that I’d make a fricking awesome boyfriend,” Stiles illustrated his point by hitting the flowers against Derek’s chest. “Sure I’m not tall and exotic like Scott or all pocket-sized and perfect like Jackson, and I sure as hell know I’m no Danny but I’d…” He trailed off suddenly and dropped his shoulders. “I thought you liked me.” Stiles rushed on because Derek raised an eyebrow and everybody knew that when he did that you had five minutes to calm him down before the wolf came out and ate you. “I mean dude, you’re always hitting me.”
Derek’s expression grew a little watchful, wary almost. “You like that?”
“No!” Stiles interjected quickly, emphatically, because if there was one thing he didn’t like it was pain. “I meant that you’re always finding excuses to touch me and sneak into my room at night. It’s not such a stretch to think…well…” He scratched his head and not for the first time that evening cursed his lack of Adderall. “A boy could get ideas.”
“Clearly,” Derek sneered finally grabbing the flowers from Stiles after most of the petals had scattered across his expensive looking shirt. “And that is not what I meant.” At Stiles’ blank stare Derek sighed with a pained expression on his face. “It’s not you that’s the problem here for once. It’s me. I can’t go out with you.”
“Please,” Stiles was not above begging to get the boy he wanted. That was another Stilinski trait because apparently his Dad begged his Mom for years before she agreed to even acknowledge him out of school but then she was his high school teacher; and how depressing was it that at his age Stiles’ Dad had both secretly dated and impregnated his math teacher while Stiles couldn’t even get Derek Hale to go out with him.
“You’re seriously doing this,” Derek said in that infuriatingly deadpan way of his.
“I’d treat you really well,” Stiles continued on as though Derek hadn’t spoken. “I’m good at that, ask my Dad. I’d do your laundry and cook your meals, not that I’m a great cook of course but I have my Mom’s old recipes and Dad never complains.” At Derek’s unconvinced expression Stiles’ cleared his throat nervously. “I’d let you fuck me,”
“I’m sure that would be quite the sacrifice on your part,” Derek scoffed at him but Stiles noticed how his knuckles whitened on the flower bouquet and his jaw tightened just a little, and sure he was easily distracted and a bit too focused on seemingly random things but if there was one thing that Stiles Stillinski definitely wasn’t it was stupid. Okay he was stupid sometimes but not about the guys (and girl) he liked and who (possibly) liked him.
“In your wolf form,” Stiles continued easily even though his heart was trying to beat through his chest at the sheer stupidity of what he was saying. Derek was an Alpha damn it, he would split Stiles in half. “I’d let you fuck me in your wolf form.”
Derek gave him a long heated glance his eyes moving from the tops of Stiles’ scuffed sneakers to the curly ends of his, now ridiculously long, hair. He seemed to be (finally!) considering it, like being open to bestiality was a more important relationship requirement than being an all-round awesome guy, and who knows. Perhaps that was just the way hereditary werewolves rolled.
“Okay,” Derek said at long last, his jaw relaxing a fraction.
“Really,” Stiles said, annoyed. He even jutted out his hip. “You’re really making me do that. You’d kill me.”
“I’m not making you do anything,” Derek said evenly. “You offered.”
“I didn’t think you’d say yes!”
“You shouldn’t have offered then,” Derek lifted the flowers up to his nose even though they didn’t really smell of much to Stiles and he had a fricking awesome sense of smell. “So,” He continued after a short sigh. “Where’re we going for dinner?” At Stiles’ incredulous expression Derek actually had the nerve to smirk. “You did book a restaurant right?”
“I made dinner at home,” Stiles admitted reluctantly because the plan was to ambush Derek into agreeing to a date and then luring him home for steak and sex, and he had researched it thoroughly damn it.
“Even better,” Derek threw the flowers into the house behind him and stepped out of the doorway. “Just so you know, Stilinski. I don’t usually put out until at least the third date but if you turn out to be half as good a cook as Scott says you are, I might make you my exception.”
“Yippee,” Stiles drawled sarcastically, all of his previous enthusiasm washed away just like the pubic hair he’d shaved in the bathtub especially for the occasion. Nevertheless when Derek offered him his hand he took it immediately and tightly and resolved to never (ever) let it go.
fin (for now)