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The first time it happens Stiles is late to a doctor’s appointment. It’s actually his dad’s, but if Stiles doesn’t get there before him his dad will convince the doctor he’s healthier then he is. As it is, he only has twenty minutes left to get there and spill the beans on the sheriff's donut addiction courtesy of the new cafe open a block from the station. He has a stack of research to drop off at the loft first though.

He’s in such a hurry to drop off the papers and get back out to the jeep that he doesn’t even notice for a moment. But then…he catches Derek’s eye.

Derek, who is hunched over a box of donuts baring the logo for the very same cafe that his father has been eating at. He’s trying to stuff one donut into his mouth while shoving the box under the coffee table. There’s powdered sugar across his face, caked on his lips and the tip of his nose mostly and his eyes are wide and guilty. He’s wearing a classic deer-in-the-headlights expression that clashes with his normally surly exterior.

While Stiles stands at the door with his mouth hanging open Derek rubs powered sugar and what looks like globs of candy jelly off on his jeans. The research is still dangling in one hand by the tips of his fingers as he watches Derek try to salvage the situation but it’s too late because Stiles has definitely just walked in on Derek Hale, six pack toting sourwolf, binging a box of donuts Stiles knows for a fact are loaded with sugar and artificial crap. (Hey, he does his research, gotta keep his old man’s heart beating strong.)

“Are you-” He starts, but doesn’t get to finish before Derek is striding towards him with angry brows drawn over his powdery face. (Oh god, Stiles is going to die, but all he can think about is that there is powered sugar caught in the dark hair of Derek’s beard.) He squeaks and all but tosses the papers at Derek in a rush to escape the room. He slams the door behind him, catching a glimpse of Derek’s bewildered face the second before the door closes.

The imagine of Derek clenching the papers he’d slaved over all night in one jelly sticky hand haunts him all the way to the doctor’s office.

He doesn’t get there before his dad.



The second time is a rainy Tuesday that finds Stiles clomping up the stairs and into his room soaking wet because his jeep (Dumb piece of- no, he doesn’t mean that.) has broken down again on the way home from school. His shoes squelch on his feet and leave muddy tracks all the way to his room and his pants hang sadly off his hips, threatening to fall down if even one more drop of water weighs them down.

He notices Derek right away this time, but how can he not when the man is hunched over on his bed helping himself to an entire glass dish of leftover lasagna Stiles remembers putting in the fridge two nights ago.

There’s papers spread all over his bed, some of them sporting pasta sauce marks. The nightstand next to the bed is holding a mostly empty two-liter of Mountain Dew and a sad, wet box of bread sticks that is thrown open and empty except for a smear of cheese sauce across the side of the cardboard.

He stands there gaping for at least five minutes before Derek actually gives in and lifts his head to stare at Stiles disapprovingly. Which, no. Stiles has every right to stand there and stare at him because Derek-freaking-Hale was camped out on his bed looking like he’d been there most of the day while finishing off a pan of lasagna Stiles was almost certain had been a least half full before he’d left this morning.

“Dude, what are you doing?” One eyebrow raised and Derek’s mouth twisted into a small frown. He lifted the last forkful of pasta to his mouth and devoured it like he hadn’t just ate half a pan and god knows what else.

“Reading your research.”

“Yeah, thanks Captain Obvious, I can see that. But this is my room, where I do the research. Not where you also read it. Don’t you have a loft?” Stiles was getting the growly face full force. Derek’s eyebrows were bunched up over his eyes and his forehead was heavily creased. His mouth had thinned out and Stiles could see the very tip of one fang peeking over his lip.

Antagonize the werewolf with anger issues? Check.

Derek continued to glare at him while Stiles stands in his drenched clothing and considers his options. There weren’t many, but getting a hot shower seemed pretty reasonable.

“I’m gonna catch a shower, do whatever werewolves do when their stress eating and please, please be gone when I get out.”

“I’m not-”

“You are dude, you really are. I don’t care how muscly you are, you do not have to eat that much.” He spins on one hells and squeaks and squelches all the way to the bathroom where a steaming hot shower awaits him.

Derek doesn’t leave while he’s in the shower. When he emerges in a puff of steam Derek has taken up residence at his computer desk and is polishing off Stiles’s secret stash of cookie dough.

Stiles yells at him.

Derek doesn’t look impressed.


The third time, after all the shit went down with the nogitsune and the benefactor, Allison and Aidan and every other sucky thing that went wrong in their lives lately, Derek gets to release his pent up stress licking cherry sauce off Stiles’s dick.

Cherry sauce.

Cause Derek is a freak.

It’s fine though, because after they’ve had several rounds of sweaty, awesome sex Stiles gets to cover Derek in chocolate sauce and lick it out of his mouth and off his rock hard abs before treating himself to Derek’s dick like it’s a ice-cream pop.

And that is pretty great.