The beach house wasn't far now. Faded yellow lines, dulled from years of assault by the sea air, led the way down the old two lane highway. Pine trees lined up like soldiers along the road edge, these to keep out the sound and separate the towns from one to this. All of this made for such tranquil surroundings under a sky so blue that only the fluffiest clouds were allowed to cross it.
Stiles' black BMW wasn't the top of the line anymore, but it was when he bought it. The engine hummed with quiet ease as he cruised along at a moderate speed. The air rushing in the open windows and the open sunroof was cool as it blew from the water, making it just chilly enough to require his jacket.
It was the perfect summer day for driving. That was, until a lurch of his faithful car made Stiles nervously tighten his fingers around the leather steering wheel.
"Just a little longer…" he pleaded as he glanced down at the speedometer, which was settled around 60 mph. But when his wide brown eyes lifted to the bonnet of the car, waves of heat rose up like a desert mirage from under the hood. It reminded him of his old jeep.
Stiles' fingers tightened on the leather steering wheel. He needed the car to keep running for a little longer. Pushing 60mph, he could still see the waves of heat that rose from his hood.
Wind whipping around, he could smell the salty scent of the ocean in the air, but that didn't offer any reassurance that his destination was any nearer. The smell of burning metal made his uncomfortable; the intense heat he felt at his feet was unsettling.
Frustrated he jiggled the cell phone adapter, proving it was broken, pulled it out and threw it to the floor.
Banging his hand on the wheel Stiles should have stopped for dinner back at that little diner in the last town. He could have charged his now dead cell phone. "No, no, no. This cannot be happening."
Stiles had been ordered to take a week off. His boss had made the arrangements for Stiles' research to be taken care of and with the exception of one last telephone conference scheduled in an hour, he was almost free. And Stiles needed to take the call.
Then he could relax.
The mocking orange light that had switched had been on before. His mechanic had said not to worry, but the stop for gas and an extra tightening of the gas cap that was recommended failed to resolve anything. Smelling slightly of gas, he'd gotten back into the car and continued onwards.
The whine of the engine startled him as the car started to wind down. He had enough momentum to pull to the side of the road before it stalled completely. His car crept a few inches more, before Stiles put it into park. He banged his head on the wheel while thick white smoke started to pour out from underneath the hood.
"Go take a relaxing vacation, Stiles. Get away from the city, Stiles." he mocked the argument his boss has used. Grumbling he got out of the car. The air was stifling now that he wasn't moving; the summer sun beat down on his persistently. Sweltering in tweed; he shrugged off his jacket and threw it back into the car with his lab coat.
Stiles clenched his fist and slammed the door hard. "AHH! Stupid car!"
With a huge wind-up he kicked the tire. Tears came to his eyes as pain shot up his toe. Looking down his, his heart sank at the scuff on his Salvatore Ferragamo Oxfords he had just purchased last week at Lydia's insistence. Limping, he made his way to the front of the car, stomping his other foot because he forgot to unlatch the hood. Stiles turned back to the door leaned in through the window to release the hood latch.
With a roll of his eyes he went back around to the hood; put his fingers under to release the latch, burning his fingers in the process.
Stiles stood motionless, watching the steam trickle up from the engine in. His foot and hand throbbed; he could feel the start of sunburn on his face, and he was alone on the deserted road. He wiped at his face.
A seagull flew overhead and screamed, causing his to shiver despite the heat. Inhaling to compose himself, Stiles scanned tall pine trees that now loomed oppressively. The narrow grass path from the street to the edge of the forest was unusually clean, no doubt thanks to the small amount of traffic that passed.
Wiping the sweat that had gathered on his forehead back, he went to the driver's side door, leaned through the window to pop the trunk. There was a medical kit that he kept. Hearing the latch release, he limped around.
Setting the canvas kit on his luggage, Stiles searched for burn ointment inside. Though his fingers throbbed, the redness wasn't that bad. Finding the bottle he pulled and met resistance. Giving another good tug, the bottle flew up, slipped out of his grip only to roll to the back of the trunk.
Stiles closed his eyes and clenched his good fist, taking a few breaths. Reaching inside to get the bottle, he had to kneel on the bumper to grab it. He had it in his grasp as he heard the roar of an engine.
Excited Stiles moved his knee, slipped and knocked the breath out of his as he hugged the trunk ledge. Pushing himself up he realized that if he didn't get out of the trunk faster they might continue right past his. Shifting his knee on the bumper to get more leverage, he pulled himself out of the trunk.
"Are you okay?" A male voice asked.
Startled Stiles pushed completely up, cracking his head on the trunk lid in the process. Twisting around, he slid to the ground, landing on his injured foot, which gave out completely. Painfully landing on his rear, Stiles finally looked up from the ground to see a tall man sitting on a motorcycle behind his car, the only visible part of his face were his eyes.
The bastard was laughing.
He was down; Stiles decided it was best to stay that way. Looking over the man on the silver crotch rocket, his eyes narrowing at the brand, Kawasaki Ninja. Scoffing, he glanced upwards, a big boy's toy.
The creek of leather had his eyes sliding over his helmet clad lean body as he kicked the stand and swung a long leg over, getting off of the bike. Stiles' mouth went dry as he crossed the space between them and crouched in front of his. He could smell sweat, oil and a hint of something earthy wafting off of him with a slight breeze.
"Hey are you okay?" A fingerless gloved hand reached out to his, the digits callused. A working man's hands he noted. He heard a click and his head rose to meet blue that glared at him through the gap in the helmet.
Tension radiated from his body at that question. "I'm fine, thank you." Stiles' mouth opened and he couldn't stop the words from snapping out.
He tilted his head and let his obvious lie slid. His hands came down, clasping Stiles' wrists and pulled him upwards in an effortless display of strength.
Unexpectedly Stiles found himself closer than he would have liked to the man in front of him. His eyes opened wider when he began to shift his body back, pressing it up against the now closed trunk. It had been too long since anyone had shown him this kind of consideration.
His brow wrinkled in confusion, seeing his first aid kit in his hands. Stiles had to give him credit, as smoothly as he moved he was quick and adept. His tall intruder placed the kit next to his and turned back to his bike.
His back was as lean as his front, the jacket form fitting, running down over a muscular butt. Stiles watched as he grabbed something from his saddle bags.
"Drink this while I bandage you alright?" Stiles' eyes focused on the old fashioned soda bottle being help out to his. The orange fizz slid down his throat and cooled its way down to his belly as the man in front of his knelt to inspect his ankle, creating a contrasting heat.
His eyes started to sting as he looked up into the brilliant blue sky. A soft pressure on his thigh roused his attention to the man between his legs once more. His jet black helmet gleamed under the sunlight.
"I think I'm in shock." Stiles stated before taking another swig of the soda, the sugar already working it's magic on his body. "You're good at this."
Stiles looked down; his face was still covered by a turtle neck he wore under the helmet. He couldn't tell how old he was, but he could tell he was extremely fit.
The man stood and leaned his hip on the trunk, at enough of a distance that Stiles wanted to pull him slightly closer, "I've seen shock enough to know how to handle it. How are you feeling now?"
"I'd be better if you could fix my car. I have an important telephone call to make and I'm running out of time." The world seemed to snap back into order as Stiles slid off his trunk, ungraceful as always.
"Now it so happens that I might be able to help. What seems to be the problem?"
Stiles watched as he unzipped his motorcycle jacket to reveal a mechanic's uniform underneath, with its arms tied around his waist. His mouth went dry as he shrugged off the jacket and revealed lean muscular arms. Nonchalantly laying the clothing on his trunk he stalked to the front of his car while Stiles watched the play of his jeans against his butt.
Not wanting to get caught ogling a stranger, Stiles grabbed at his shoes, and threw them into the trunk. He opened his suitcase and pulled out a pair of thong sandals. He slipped them on before following the man on his way around front. "The engine light was on before everything stopped."
The smoke that had been rising from the car was long gone now, the engine already cooling down. Stiles watched as long fingers checked valves and poked at hoses, fingers becoming grimier as he did this.
"Do you have any water?" Blue eyes focused on his after a few moments, "It looks like you have no antifreeze. If you have some water, it should get you safely into town for your phone call. Then you can take it to a mechanic as soon as you can."
Stiles' cheeks hurt from the smile that statement had caused. Happy that things seemed to be getting better; he went back inside his car and grabbed a few bottles out of the brand new case of water he'd brought along with him.
Stiles' returned to the front of the car to see nimble fingers prying off a cap. "Water." The man held his hand out to his without looking.
Stiles placed the bottle in his hand, "How will the patient be Doctor?"
"He's good for now, but I think he'll need more work by tomorrow, nurse."
His car quickly guzzled four bottles of water before the doctor declared it was enough. "There we go, we'll have to check on his tomorrow." Wiping the grease off onto his pants, Stiles' Good Samaritan then shut the hood and looked over at his once more.
"Go start her up."
Stiles slid behind the wheel and felt tears prickle as his car started and no smoke appeared.
Staring at him thought the windshield; he was struck by the sheer magnetism of the man.
"Well nurse, shouldn't you be written up for your blatant disregard of your uniform?"
Skin hot from the comment he blurted out the first thing that sprang to his mind. "Pervert!" All he could imagine now was him in one of the Halloween nurse dresses with a huge clipboard. It wasn't pretty. "I'm a research Doctor actually, not a nurse." Stiles unclipped his badge from his shirt and threw it on the seat next to him.
The stranger's laughter was like warm chocolate, sliding down his spin as he passed, his hand patting his shoulder burned hotter than the sun had already burnt his face. He shivered as he turned to watch him walking back to his bike, grabbing his jacket in the process.
Stiles shivered. He hadn't even taken off the mask he wore over the lower half of his face under the helmet and there he was calling him a pervert. Feeling slightly ashamed he got out of the car and followed him, watched as he swung a long leg over and settled onto the bike, its heavy frame balanced underneath his control.
"I'm sorry. Thank you very much for helping me." Stiles held his hand out.
He waved his hands at his, they were still slightly greasy, and "Will you be staying in town for the weekend?"
"Ah, yes, at a friend's house." Stiles lowered his hand and clasped it with his other.
He cocked his head and dug into the jacket he'd put back on. "There you go, bring your car to the shop tomorrow and we'll take a better look at it for you."
Stiles took the business card that he held out to his and glanced at the name, Derek Hale. "Thank you Mr. Hale for all your help. I better be going."
"Call me Derek, Mr. Hale was my father." His head inclined towards hiss. "And you are?"
"Oh! Stiles," he said, "Stiles Stalinski."
"Well it was nice to meet you Stiles," Derek drew out his name as he started up his bike.
With a wave and a smile, Stiles hurried to get back into his, watching Derek drive off down the road. Shaking his head slightly he pulled back on to the road and continued his way to the house.
Inhaling more of the air off the ocean as Stiles biked down the beach road to Derek's mechanic shop where he had dropped his car off as soon as the shop had opened this morning. He hadn't been there, but he had apparently left a message about him dropping off his car. It had been a while since someone had been so genuinely nice and helpful.
A surly blond pretty boy had grabbed at his keys while another with a bit of an island look pushed the first for being rude to a customer. Then Danny, as he had introduced himself, promised that they would take extra care of his car. He'd even helped him pull out the bike Stiles had found in the house out from the trunk of the car for him.
Stiles had been lazing on the outside porch getting caught up with his comics when he got the call that his car was ready. It was a good thing; he hadn't been able to buy anymore food for the house then what he found there. Breakfast and lunch hadn't been very appealing and Stiles was looking forward to picking up something good at the grocery.
Pulling up to the garage, Stiles laid his bike against the wall and walked in. There was no one at the front desk but the door that lead his into the back open. Stiles peeked around, his mouth when dry when he saw Derek working on another motorcycle.
He was wearing a snug black wife beater t-shirt that left nothing to the imagination. He could see the separate muscles in his back move as he continued to tug on the machine in front of him. The slight sheen of sweat mixed with a glob of grease that had somehow found its way on the back of his neck.
Stiles had to swallow twice before he was able to moisten it.
"Like what you see?" Derek's low timbers echoed in the small space.
Too Stiles' horror he saw that his image reflected off the cycle's mirrors. Blood rushed to his cheeks. He'd seen his staring. At least Derek hadn't taken offence and beat the hell out of him for looking. Glaring was alright.
"Your bill is in the other room. It was only a hose, so it was an easy fix. Give me a few more minuets and I'll be able to check you out properly." He continued to look at his, his blue eyes filling the mirror.
Stiles clutched his fingers together as his face went hotter at his innuendo. "I want to apologize for my rudeness yesterday. It was uncalled for. Thank you very much for helping me."
Derek grunted, "It wasn't a problem."
Stiles felt his mouth twitch. The man had a little of a sour attitude.
"Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?" The thought was barely considered before the words slipped through his lips before he could stop them. "As a thank you, I mean." Stiles was sure that his face couldn't get any redder than it was currently.
Derek's glare disappeared from the mirror as his attention went back to the bike for a moment, giving it one more yank before laying a wrench to the side. Standing up he started whipping at his arms with a rag to get the grease and sweat off.
The silence that filled the room made Stiles' stomach cramp with nerves. He usually wasn't so forthcoming. He hadn't even seen his full face yet and he was practically throwing himself at the man. There was something about him that drew him in. It must be animal magnetism or something.
He was an idiot. Why would this god of a man want to have dinner with him? It was clear he'd been checking him out. Stiles opened his mouth to retract his statement.
"I prefer meat over pasta." Derek said, back still to Stiles.
Stiles stood there with his mouth open before shaking himself slightly and grinning widely. He clenched his hand and gave himself a small fist pump. He coughed and turned to glance out the door to make sure no one had seen what he'd just done.
Satisfied that they were alone he turned back to Derek and found himself looking at a wall full of chest. Stiles glanced up and he twitched as he got his first good look at Derek's face.
The man knew how to wear scruff that much was clear. With all his features combined, there was no doubt this man was gorgeous. Stiles internally snickered at the old cartoon slogan; with all these powers combined I am captain planet!
"Right, we could have a barbecue. I'm sure there's one at the house I'm renting for the week." Stiles prayed there was. A bbq and some nice cold drinks, like the one with alcohol that he could use right now.
Derek nodded and physically turned Stiles around, a hand going low on his back, guiding Stiles out towards the front desk. Heat prickled from the low touch. Stiles wasn't' used to be manhandled, but he'd let Derek manhandle him any day.
"Let's settle the bill first."
"Yes," Stiles echoed, "settling the bill sounds good." Stiles was pushed around to the front of the front desk. He briefly noted how clean it was, something to be proud of in a place where it could easily get messy.
Staring down at the desk was his down fall. He felt himself being turned and then set up on the desk. Stiles' eyes widened as he found himself being cornered by every direction. There were thick muscular arms on each side of him, Derek's lean body between knees that opened automatically. "Traitors!" He scolded them in his head.
He licked his lips, "About the bill?" Derek's face was so close, he wanted to lick that jaw line, maybe nibble on his throat a little.
"It was just a hose, the dinner will cover that. However," Derek paused, pulling Stiles flush against his body. "There is the matter of tax."
"Tax? Yes! Taxes. I can understand laws to be followed. Taxes to be paid," Stiles felt like he was seventeen again and babbling over Lydia. She said it'd been embarrassing, but once he'd gotten over her, they'd become good friends.
Suddenly Stiles was incapable of speech. There were hard lips on his and a hot tongue that invaded his open mouth. All Stiles could do was grip at Derek and try to follow his lead. He was like a little puppy wiggly to get closer in a good cuddle. He followed the tongue in his mouth as he licked everywhere. Who cared about breathing?
Derek pulled back and bit softly on Stiles' lower lip, and then kissed his swollen lips in smacking succession before stopping all together.
Stiles, his eyes still closed sighed happily. It was like Derek owned his mouth.
A loud shout came from the back, "DEREK! We need to talk!"
Stiles was pulled off the counter and carefully slid down Derek's body until his feet were on the floor again.
"Text me your address," Derek said with a sigh as he wrote out a number on the back of a napkin. He tucked it into Stiles' jeans before pushing keys into his hands and pushing him towards the door. Stiles turned back briefly to see Jackson, the angry boy from earlier almost rip the back door of the shop off its hinges.
"I'll see you tonight." Derek closed the door on Stiles.
Had Derek just growled at Jackson a moment ago? Stiles didn't want to be in that kid's place. He walked to his car and slid in. He had dinner to prepare tonight.