When Stiles was a kid, he loved car rides. Long car rides, in the backseat of the car, face pressed into the leather of the seat, the car dark, the radio low, his parents talking up front, or maybe not. Maybe just one driving, the other staring out the window, or sleeping. Usually his dad. His mom loved to drive.
The Camaro isn't like any car he's ever been in before. The console lights up. Can change colors. Stiles kind of likes to mess with it, but that always pisses Derek off. Well, maybe because it pisses Derek off when he messes with the Camaro, makes him roll his eyes, glare at Stiles.
Right now though, he leaves it red like Derek likes, and just closes his eyes, turns his face into the leather, breathes deep. The car is silent, radio off, and it's just the Camaro's engine, Derek shifting gears when he has to, the road under the tires.
“Tired?” Derek asks, quietly, like he thinks he might be waking Stiles up, doesn't want to, and hey, at least he's mostly quiet in his sleep.
“Long car rides put me to sleep.” He burrows a bit further into his hoodie, chilly now. He always gets cold when he's tired.
Derek makes a sound, acknowledging it. Shifts gears. Stiles kind of loves the way the Camaro sounds when he does that. It's weird. He's not even a car guy. “Turn the heat up.” Derek says, not unkindly, but impatient. “You look like a pill bug.”
“Thought you said not to touch stuff?” Stiles teases, cracking an eye open. Derek's face is highlighted by the dash, expressionless in the way someone concentrating on the road is.
“Or freeze. Not my problem.”
“Yeah, dude, I think having the body of the Sheriff's one and only son in your car could end up being a problem.” He turns the heat up a little, just enough he's comfortable again, and settles back on the seat, trying to find his previous position. “How much further?”
“Another hour.” Derek says. “More maybe.”
Stiles closes his eyes again, exhales. He's really tired, and it's not just the car ride. The day has been less than fun, not how he wants to spend his Friday. Not that he wanted to spend it in school either, don't get him wrong, but chemistry would have been a lot easier than dealing with werewolves, and witches, and treaties, seriously, treaties, between covens and packs. God, his life is weird.
Those thoughts somehow become a dream about lacrosse practice where Finstock totally calls him out on skipping class to go play Neutral Human for Derek and the coven, makes him run drills, even though he's sleeping, still has his pillow in hand. It's a dream. It makes sense.
His phone wakes him up, the text alert going off. Derek is still driving, still staring ahead.
We got pulled. Stiles frowns, rubs his eyes, because really? He can't leave Scott alone for two minutes, can he? Just the two hour drive, that's all he was asking, even if Scott had frowned at Stiles' explanation, claiming he just couldn't handle Isaac's driving, because Scott is kind of off in space half the time, but he's not actually stupid. Stiles is pretty sure Scott knows what the deal is, or is at least suspicious. “Scott and Isaac got pulled.” He says, and doesn't need to open his eyes again to know what face Derek is making. It never fails to make him smile, the way he just looks like he wants to bang his head into the steering wheel.
“Do I want to know why?” He asks, right as Stiles gets a text saying Isaac was speeding.
“You know Scott told Isaac he could drive.”
“Great.” He huffs. “They're going to be awhile. Isaac already got a ticket for reckless driving, two months ago. Cop is probably going to give them a hard time for awhile.”
Stiles smirks. That answer is a little too specific.
Derek glances at him, makes a face, the one where he's daring Stiles to keep talking. “You know the only reason you still have a license is because your dad is the Sheriff, so I don't want to hear your mouth.”
“Maybe I'm just an awesome driver.” Stiles counters.
Derek gives him a look.
“Or my dad is the sheriff. Also a possibility.” He concedes generously, because Stiles is a nice guy. “You want to find a diner, wait for them to catch up?”
Derek snorts. “Not my problem.” Like Derek doesn't have a big giant soft spot for Isaac, because everyone has a big giant soft spot for Isaac and his big puppy eyes and 'love me' face. He's a total best friend stealer, and Stiles still fucking adores him, and Derek never throws Isaac likes he does Boyd and Erica.
Stiles presses his face against the leather, enjoys the warmth, because seat heaters, awesome. Seriously. “Want to stop and make out?”
And that gets Derek's attention.
“You wouldn't be able to wait for Scott.” He says, after a second, and he's still so cool about everything, looks almost bored, like his hand hadn't run up Stiles' thigh when he climbed into the Camaro, like he hadn't let Stiles pick the radio station, which meant he was in a damn good mood, because Stiles' and Derek's music tastes, the two do not meet very often. “I'd have to take you home so you could shower.” Because Stiles thinks Scott might know that there's something up, but he's not sure, and Scott hasn't said anything, so maybe he doesn't. And if he doesn't, and they finally slip up, well, Stiles isn't ready for that conversation, not just yet, not until he's sure what the conversation is.
“True. Very true.” And then he says, very casually, at the lit up console, “My dad won't be back until tomorrow. In the afternoon. The late afternoon.” And maybe at first, when they first started doing this, Stiles would have been too nervous to insinuate something like this, but that was before Derek kissed his way up Stiles' spine, left hickeys on his hips since Stiles vetoed the neck, before he'd taken Stiles to an apartment on the other side of town that he didn't think Scott had ever seen. Because yeah, Stiles is young and new at this and Derek is probably out of his league, but he's also really into Stiles.
Enough Stiles feels okay teasing him.
“Or you could just take me home. Not use this golden opportunity when we're actually alone in the car, without Scott or your misfits anywhere around to walk in on us,” and Stiles didn't think Boyd was ever going to forgive either of them, and Erica had laughed and laughed and laughed. “That's cool too.”
Derek's hand is on his thigh, thumb working into it even through his jeans. “What is it with you and my car?”
“This car was made for making out.” Stiles is waking up now, the low buzz of restlessness he always carries re-emerging, because it's probably a few hours past when he should have taken his medicine. Relaxed still though, could be sleepy if he felt like it, but he doesn't feel like it. What he feels like is hiding the Camaro somewhere dark and crawling into Derek's lap and turning on the radio. So he takes the hand on his thigh, and tugs it up, kisses Derek's wrist, his palm, and Derek has to take his hand back, change gears, because Stiles is awesome at convincing Derek to do things Derek wants to do.
And then they're parked, and the car is off, key still in the ignition so the radio is on, and it's so dark Stiles can just barely see Derek, but that's not important. Derek's already pulling him over, his seat pushed back so Stiles can fit there, can straddle his lap, push down on him, and yeah, maybe Stiles is still a little confused about when this became a thing. He's always said girls, and he thinks maybe Scott's always known that it's guys too, just been a good enough guy to leave it alone. But he never thought it would be guys like Derek, had barely hoped for a guy like Danny, but damn, Stiles can't help how he always wants things he shouldn't.
Sometimes he thinks it's the ADHD, that sensation that sits under his skin like electricity, crackling through his veins and making him want things he can't name. He thinks maybe it's that need to know, that fascination he has with interesting, like a beautiful girl so smart it's scary, who no one really knows and spins whole crowds to her wants. Like a man, a werewolf, older and stronger and kind of insane in all the best ways, and never boring, holding Stiles' focus, because Derek always demands all the focus in the room, and he's like a magnet, north to Stiles' south, drawing him in, wanting to see all the pieces of Derek no one else does, and happy when he knows what no one else does, having something that's all his to take out and examine.
The Adderall only keeps him still, really, and he's probably needed a stronger dose for a few years now, but he doesn't want to give it up, the impulsiveness and the obsessiveness and the want. The impulse that made him kiss Derek that first time, in the warehouse, when Derek had him against the wall again, and he was threatening Stiles, but the impulse said I want to kiss him, and he kissed him, and now, now he's in Derek's lap in the Camaro and the radio is low on a song he doesn't know and Derek's hands are under his hoodie, and screw the Adderall if Stiles is finally getting something he wants.
He's still kind of surprised he's getting the thing he wants, actually, but Derek seems surprised he gets this too, so he doesn't feel too bad about it, for the most part. Mostly, he thinks getting to make out with Derek in his stupid awesome car is too good to question, ADHD, luck, life, whatever.
Derek says, low, “We've only got an hour. Way Isaac drives, they'll catch up fast. Wonder where we are.”
Stiles hums an acknowledgment and cups the back of Derek's head, encourages him to keep doing that thing he's doing to the soft skin right below his ear, because it feels so good, not like, getting hard, going to die good, but just really good. Really good. “So we've got an hour.”
“Hey, turn the record over. Hey, I’ll see you on the flip side. There you go, turn the key and engine over… ” The radio shouts, low, and Stiles hums along, while he kisses Derek, and Derek says, “Come home with me,” back to that apartment, Stiles thinks, back to that place so few are allowed.
“But Better Sense says,”
“Isaac is totally going to rat us out to Scott,” he reminds him, because Isaac sleeps on Derek's couch a lot, foster parents not noticing or caring, but Stiles doesn't mind, he likes Isaac, Isaac is like a puppy who can make really good French toast.
Derek is doing something to his neck that feels fucking amazing, is totally going to leave a mark, and he thinks, shit, going to have that conversation with Scott soon after all, and hell, why not, Scott probably does know already.
“Hey, turn the record over.”
And Derek huffs, says, “What's Scott going to do, challenge me for your honor?” And Stiles can almost see his raised eyebrows, his smirk, so he laughs, digs his nails in like Derek likes.
“Better make it a good hour then,” and Derek chuckles, and Stiles asks, “Do you know who this is, I like this song,” and Derek chuckles some more.
“Only you could have this much shit going on in your head at once,” which means he doesn't know, so Stiles tries to remember the words so he can Google them later, and hums along some more, and encourages Derek to keep doing that thing to his neck, a hand on the back of his head pressing him there, his hips canting down, so Derek gets the idea.
“Hey, turn the record over. Hey, I’ll see you on the flip side. There you go, turn the key and engine over…”
The feeling under his skin is excited, satisfied, so he laughs, sings along, low, under his breath, and Derek is actually sort of full-out laughing now, his hands sliding up Stiles' back.