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Just Like Old Times

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Stiles shivered, tugging his flannel shirt closer around himself as he stood in the rain – the cold, wet rain that dripped off his collar and slithered down the back of his neck, all cold and wet.  Did he mention how cold and wet the rain was?

Did he?

Well, regardless, he was standing in the rain, wet and cold, shivering, and just waiting for a bolt of lightning to strike him dead because, really, that would just cap his day off perfectly.  Instead of the bolt of lightning, however, what he got was the low growl of a Sheriff’s department car’s engine, the blip of its siren, and the whish of a window being lowered.  

Stiles closed his eyes, head dropping backward as he let out a primal scream to the heavens.  “R-really, God?  What the f-fuck have I done to you l-lately?”

“It’s the fact that you felt the need to add the ‘lately’ on there that I think might be the objectionable part.  Or maybe it was the ‘fuck.’”  

Stiles spun around, one finger held up as he drew a deep breath to tell Derek – ‘that’s Deputy Hale now, Stiles’ – exactly what he could do with his lately and his fuck.  What he meant to say was, “Fuck you and your lately,” which was not the best come back, admittedly, but Stiles was: 

A. Cold

and possibly;

B. Wet

Which is why what he actually said was, “F-f-fuck l-lately.”  And his shivering voice cracked the tiniest bit on the end, giving it an upward inflection that made it sound – no, seriously, fuck the entire universe – like a question.  Or a suggestion.

Derek, the only douchebag in the entire fucking county douchey enough to be wearing his regulation sunglasses in the middle of a rainstorm, let the mirrored lenses drop down his nose, looked over the top of them, and smirked.  “Are you propositioning an officer of the law, Stiles?  There are penalties for that.”

Stiles just shivered harder at him in response, hoping in the deepest, darkest pit of himself that he’d die of hypothermia since the damned storm didn’t appear willing to gift him with a lightning bolt.  Though he thought, squinting upward, that if he had a spare bolt, he’d probably shove it straight up Deputy Dick’s ass.  

See how smirky he was then.

“Get in the car, idiot, before you freeze to death.  Or drown.”

Stiles sneered at him, no longer even a little bit surprised when he had to stop long enough to sniffle loudly.  “N-no.  And it’s n-not r-r-raining that m-much, assw-wipe.”

“If anyone in this godforsaken town could trip over their own feet and drown in a puddle, Stiles, it would be you.” Derek sighed loudly and pushed open his car door, spreading his jacket up over his head as he got out and kicked his door shut.  Hurrying to Stiles’ side, he got close enough to block the rain and then stared down in something like horror at the mess of duct tape holding the Jeep’s engine together.

“Do you– is that– where the fuck is your carburetor?”

Stiles smooshed a finger against Derek’s lips, shushing him even as he continued to shake.  And moved a little closer to the blazing fucking heat coming off Derek.  

Seriously, were those brown deputy uniforms made of radiant heat coils?  

By the time Stiles was really aware of exactly how close he’d gotten to Derek, he was pressed all up against his side, drenching his uniform and unabashedly leeching his warmth.  Derek, against all odds, just sighed and let him, still obviously trying to solve the riddle of the Jeep.

“Don’t question it,” Stiles murmured, low enough that Derek could hear him, but hopefully his beloved Jeep couldn’t.  “Pretty sure she runs on the same power mountain ash does.”

“What’s that?  The mystical power of duct tape?  Wishing?” Derek shot him a look that told him exactly how logical that sounded.

Pfft.  As if anything in Beacon Hills worked in a logical manner.

“Not wishing.  Faith.  Belief.”  Stiles elbowed Derek in the side.  Well, really, he sort of rubbed his side up against Derek’s side because he was still sucking heat like a heat-sucking succubus.  A succuheat?  “Haven’t you learned anything, wolf-boy?”

“Whatever, Stiles.  Get in the damn car, or I’ll cuff you and put you in it myself.”

“Oooh, kinky.”  Stiles held out his wrists, batting his eyelashes and then blinking rapidly when one of his – wet but no longer as cold – lashes folded under and stabbed him in the eyeball for his efforts.  “Goddamn, oww.”  

Derek laughed, the asshole, and nudged him with his chin since his hands were otherwise occupied.  “Get in the car.  My jacket’s starting to drip.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Stiles, who knew from his dad’s many and varied rants on the subject of the sanctity of the front seat of department cruisers, darted to the car and pulled open the back door, sliding onto the plastic rear seat just in time to not be caught by the slamming door.  When Derek was safely in the car, he didn’t even need Stiles nagging him to reach forward and crank the heat up.

“Oh sweet baby Jesus, dude, I could kiss you,” Stiles said, digging the tips of his fingers into the grille that separated the front and back seats and holding himself as close to it as possible.

Instead of rolling his eyes and snapping back a witty retort, or snorting and shifting the cruiser into drive, Derek raised his eyes to the rear view mirror and stared at Stiles for a long minute.

“What?  Do I have…”  Stiles extracted one hand and reached toward his nose, hoping against hope that there was no snot running down from it.  

“Is that all it would take?” Derek asked softly.


“To get you to kiss me.”

And just like that the atmosphere in the car went from zero to sixty so fast Stiles was left blinking in shock.  “Wh… wha…”  Stiles licked his lips, looking around for the candid camera.  And, oh yeah, there were a few of those because, duh, cop car.  “What?” he finally choked out.  

Derek’s face went blank, closed-off, and he shifted in his seat, looking out the windshield as he reached for the gearshift.  “Nothing.  Never mind.”

“No, wait!”  Stiles gripped the grille harder, staring at the back of Derek’s head, noticing in his somewhat panicked state that the hair was sticking up a little in the back.  “Just… do you want me to kiss you?  I thought…”

“What?” Derek’s question was soft, his voice small, like he was trying to hide.  Again.

Stiles licked his lips, “Dude, I kinda thought you just put up with me because of Scott.  And lately, y’know, my dad.”


“Why didn’t you say anything?  I know you know how to use your words now, dude.”  And then, because it occurred to Stiles that Derek was saying something, he just shook his head.  “Never mind.  Turn around.”


“I want my fucking kiss, asshole.  So turn around and kiss me.”  Stiles puckered up, lining his lips up as well as he could through the wire mesh of the grille.

“Stiles, I’m not going to kiss you through–”

Stiles made a low, angry sound in the back of his throat.  It must have sounded threatening enough, because Derek just muttered something under his breath and twisted around on the front seat, half kneeling as he tilted his head back and forth, trying to find the best angle to kiss Stiles through the grille separating them. 

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, just before pressing his mouth to Stiles’.  After barely a peck, he pulled back, frowning.  “Nope, this isn’t working.”

Before Stiles’ stomach had a chance to sink, Derek was out of the front seat and yanking the back door open, pulling Stiles back out into the cold, wet rainstorm he’d just escaped.  

“Asshole,” Stiles hissed, even as he pressed himself fully against Derek, soaking up even more heat, fingers fisted in the starched material of Derek’s uniform shirt.  

“Drama queen,” Derek murmured before cupping the back of Stiles’ head and pulling him into a kiss that was, admittedly, much better than the tiny little peck they’d managed earlier.

It was like something out of a romance novel, making Stiles go a little squishy and gooey on the inside – yes, he liked romance novels, so what?  Right up until Derek pulled back from the kiss and patted his ass, saying, “Get back in the car before you wrinkle my uniform more than you already have.  I’m taking you home.”

Stiles grumbled, but did as he was told because there were a lot of hidden meanings in that statement and he couldn’t wait to interrogate Derek about a few of them.  Like ‘whose home was he taking Stiles to’ and ‘could they use the handcuffs if he was a good boy.’

Or, possibly, a very bad boy.  Heh.  Heh.

But again, Derek hesitated before putting the car in gear, making Stiles frown. 


“Nothing.  Just… thinking.”

“About me?” Stiles asked, waggling his eyebrows.

“About turnabouts and fair play.”

Stiles frowned, lips shaping the words like they’d make sense if he could feel them in his mouth.  And then he looked up at Derek, who was giving the grille that was supposed to separate the deputy from the suspect a very pointed look, and rolled his eyes.  

“Oh come on!  Asshole.”

“Nah, really, it’s one of a dozen lovely memories.  Something we could tell the pack children one day.  That time mommy got daddy arrested for murder.  Or we could tell them about the other time mommy got daddy arrested for murder.”

“Wait, why am I mommy?  Derek, do you have latent unresolved issues with your sexuality?”  Stiles hated how fond his voice sounded, but he couldn’t help it.  It was kind of thrilling to hear Derek talk about this whatever it was between them like it had a future.  A long and happy future.

A pack children kind of future.

Of course, that didn’t stop him from sniping at Derek all the way home.

To Derek’s home, because he was off shift – and starting his weekend.  

And then sniping some more until Derek agreed to use the handcuffs.