"Okay, this is really keen and all, but everyone's waiting on us," Stiles says, pushing his thick-rimmed glasses higher on his nose and giving a little shiver. "And I don't know how it's possible, but it's at least fifteen degrees colder down here than it is outside. Because of the metal?"
"Here," Derek says, shrugging off his leather jacket and draping it over Stiles' shoulders. "Better?"
"Um, yes." Stiles clears his throat and pulls the jacket tighter around his shoulders, feeling the residual heat from Derek's body through his own thin cardigan. "Thank you."
"And cool it, okay?" Derek squeezes the back of Stiles' neck, quick and firm, and Stiles closes his eyes for a second and bites back a sigh, because really. "I just thought it'd be a kick. You're always talking about being 'prepared for all eventualities,' yeah?"
"Does your dad really think this rat trap is gonna protect you if the Reds drop the bomb?" Stiles asks, smirking, and then holds up his hands defensively when Derek slowly raises his eyebrows. "Okay, all right, I'm hep, it's a perfectly fine shelter. I'm sure the Hales will be the sole survivors of the nuclear winter."
"No we won't; you could share with us," Derek says, so casually that Stiles almost misses it. Once he goes back over that statement in his brain, though, the fact that it's totally ridiculous doesn't keep Stiles from turning pink all over.
"Come all the way in," Derek is saying. "You gotta see it with the door shut." He pulls Stiles forward by yanking on the lapels of his own jacket, and then steps around him to push the heavy door closed. "It's pretty cool; you can't even hear the cars on the street—oh."
"Oh?" Stiles whips around. "Oh, what? That doesn't sound like a positive 'oh,' Derek."
"Don't have a cow, Stiles, just—" Derek leans back against the door and hunches his shoulders guiltily. "So, it's not my fault? But I think I just locked us in here."
"You what?" Stiles throws himself dramatically back on the cot in the corner. "I'm hungry already, you promised me a cheeseburger! And how are we gonna let Scott and Allison and Erica and your sister and everyone know we aren't coming? You know Scott; he'll miss the whole flick just waiting for us."
"Yeah." Derek stares at a shelf full of canned goods just above Stiles' head. "About that. Uh. No one is waiting for us."
Stiles sits up abruptly. "What."
"It's just... don't get all frosted on me, okay, but..."
"Derek." Stiles stands up and gets right in front of him, glaring pointedly until Derek finally meets his eyes. "Did you ask me to the drive-in 'with the gang' and then neglect to inform me that the rest of the gang wasn't going to be there?"
"No! Well." Derek runs a hand through his hair nervously, and then fixes the curl over his forehead that he's knocked askew. "Maybe."
"Is this a date, Hale?"
"Stiles, okay, look—"
"You tricked me into going on my first date? And then—" Stiles does a quick twirl, indicating their surroundings. "—and then you locked us in a bomb shelter?!"
"I thought it would be fun! No, no, not—" Derek's eyes shoot wide, and he takes a step back from Stiles. "Not like that. I don't think you're fast, I really don't. I just... I think you're the most, that's all. And I wanted—"
"Well, so what if I am?" Stiles snaps.
"—to show you the shelter, and then maybe ask you to wear my—wait, what if you are, what?"
"...ask me to wear your what?" Stiles has never been this breathless in his entire life, and that's really saying something, considering the fact that he spends most of his weekends watching Derek drag-race his Camaro at the edge of town. "Oh, and I actually am fast, I was saying. Or, you know. Theoretically."
"Theoretically?" Derek is clenching and unclenching his hands, and he seems to be having the same breathing troubles that Stiles is.
"Yeah, I mean, I'm not exactly killin' it with the chicks. Or, you know, anyone. But I would, if somebody—"
"Just anyone?" Derek asks, looking down at his boots, and oh, maybe this is the exact wrong time to play cool.
"No," Stiles admits. "Not just anyone. I'm actually really gone for this one guy. He's got dibs."
"Dibs, huh?" Derek slowly raises his eyes, smiling a little. "So if he tried to kiss you—"
"—I'd throw him down on that cot over there and rub up against him until we both came," Stiles says, shrugging, and Derek chokes. "What? Get with it, Derek, I told you I was fast."
"Just for me, though," Derek checks, trying unsuccessfully for a casual tone as he loops one arm around Stiles' lower back and draws their bodies flush together.
"Yes, geez, you're such a goof." Stiles brushes a kiss to Derek's nose, grinning when Derek's eyes cross. "Come on, give me your ring if it makes you feel better, and then as long as we're stuck in here we can pretend the bomb is coming and it's up to us to repopulate the planet."
Derek gives him a sudden, long, lush kiss, making a hungry sound between their mouths and bending Stiles back over his arm with the force of it. "That doesn't make any sense. We're both guys. We can't reproduce."
"Don't be such a wet rag, Derek," Stiles smirks, moving them back toward the cot. "How will we know unless we try? Lots and lots of times."