Work Text:
“Where does the spoon go?”
“What?”
“Where does the spoon go?”
“One more time, but with a little more attitude so I really understand your frustration.”
“You could turn around and look at what I’m doing.”
“Or I could just tell you where to shove the spoon.”
“I could punch you in the kidney…”
“Remember that talk we had about using your words over violence? Besides, I was going to say you can shove it in you mouth so I can finish dinner in peace before—”
“Shh!” Derek interrupted sharply when he heard a vehicle pulling into the drive outside. “He’s home already.”
Stiles swore under his breath as Derek ditched the spoons to the center of the table. Derek was then around the table and going for the fridge to pull out glass bowls that he bustled over to the table.
“Do you need me to stall?” Derek asked, sounding hesitant.
Stiles scoffed. “Yeah. Go hang out in the living room and wait for him. Be extra surprising. Let him arrest you. That’ll give me plenty of time to finish this sauce and the ulcer that started the second you had this great idea.”
“I said we could tell him over dinner,” Derek pointed out as he pulled lids off of the salads and went to get the soup that was keeping warm in the microwave. “This,” he huffed as he sat down the soup before tugging at and fixing the stuffy shirt and tie he was wearing, “was all you.”
“Oh my God would you please stop whining about not getting to dress like a creep for this and focus?” Stiles said in exasperation before turning around and pulling off the apron he wore over his own shirt and tie. “He’s home and going to be through that door, and you’re gonna smile like a good boy because you don’t have a choice if you want him to give you another chance.”
Derek’s nostrils flared with an agitated sigh as his mouth tightened up to keep from scowling when Stiles approached. Stiles gave him a searching look before nudging him once, twice, and a third time before Derek conceded and smiled weakly. He hated that Stiles could read him so easily.
“There, see? Almost convinced me that you want to be here,” Stiles said quietly.
Rolling his eyes, Derek bite back his snap because he heard someone approach the front door and he moved away from Stiles so they weren’t in each other’s face when the door opened. Derek rounded the table as Stiles took his cue and fumbled with hand placement, which reassured Derek that he wasn’t the only one that was nervous.
“Stiles?” the Sheriff’s voice called out from the front of the house.
Attention jerking up, “Kitchen!” Stiles called out before going to the stove and putting a lid on the spaghetti sauce that he’d been dutifully working on for over an hour before bringing it to the table.
Derek braced on the back of the chair he was holding and stretched his neck before plastering on a smile as footsteps approached. Stiles glanced up and nudged him in the ribs and he took the smile down a notch as the Sheriff appeared in the doorway.
“What’s this?” the Sheriff asked cautiously.
Stiles rolled his eyes. “Dinner. You know, the thing that normal people do after work.”
“I can see that, son,” the Sheriff continued, gaze not breaking from Derek’s face. “What I would like to know is why dispatch just told me that his car is in my driveway when I called in the plates?”
Derek gripped the chair tighter, but Stiles didn’t falter. “Well, if you sit down, we’ll tell you over—”
“I’d like to hear it now.”
Stiles’ eyes widened. “Now’s good. Great,” Stiles replied quickly before scratching his elbow with his other hand. “Dad, I think you already know Derek—”
“You know I do,” the Sheriff interrupted firmly, eyes finally breaking away from Derek to look to Stiles.
Stiles’ smile thinned and he nodded. “Yep. Yeah. You do,” he said tightly before his scratching switched to his scalp and Derek could smell him starting to sweat more than usual. “The thing is—”
“Stiles asked me to be his Homecoming date,” Derek interrupted bluntly, unable to stand the back-and-forth. “I said ‘yes’ on the condition that we tell you.”
Stiles gripped at hair he didn’t have and held his breath as his heartrate skyrocketed. Derek gave him a slight frown, his frown of reassurance, before meeting the Sheriff’s guarded stare.
A moment of awkward silence passed before the Sheriff seemed to shake out of a stupor. “Uh-huh. Great,” he replied passively as he shrugged out of his jacket. “So, what’s for dinner?” he continued with the slightest arch of his brow that caused Stiles to release a whoosh of breath before he traded a relieved look with Derek’s genuine smile.