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Stiles is a little distracted coming out of the comic shop--he's riffling through his bag, happy that his pull list was pretty heavy this week. He's making plans to hit the Waffle House and indulge in hashbrowns and X-Men at the same time, which sounds like heaven after a couple of weeks of extreme supernatural stresses.

So he walks by the window without quite registering what he saw, and has to stop, step back and verify that yes, that was Derek in a laundromat.

Stiles just stands there gaping for a moment, because that's just so--it's like bumping into Magneto buying broccoli, or something.

And the last thing he needs is more supernatural stresses, and Derek hasn't looked up and spotted him yet so he's home free, he can just walk right over to his jeep and have a nice peaceful evening trying not to get ketchup on his comics, that is the only sensible course of action, here, so of course he walks into the laundromat instead.

(He really wishes he could make his dad understand that it's not like he thinks his decision-making is good either. It's more like--he doesn't even feel like he makes them, half the time; they just happen.)

"Hi," he says.

Derek looks up and blinks. He looks different, here, under the fluorescent lights. Smaller, maybe.

And Stiles is used to Derek's conversational topics being, "Saw off my arm right now," or "I am going to kill you slowly," but apparently that's different here, too, because he looks blankly at Stiles for a moment and then says, in a small quiet voice, "It ate my pants."

"It what? What it?" Stiles says, looking wildly around the laundromat, ceiling included, because, jesus, what now? Pants-eating demons?

But Derek nods toward the nearest washer, and holds up a pair of jeans that are--wow. Really shredded.

"Oh," Stiles says. "Oh, that sucks." He pokes his head in the empty washer, feels around a little bit with his fingertips, and yeah, all the tiny drain holes that ought to be smooth-edged are jaggedy instead. "That is a crap washer," Stiles announces.

He pulls his head back out, and says, "My dad and me, we had to take all our stuff to a laundromat for a couple of weeks once when our dryer broke, and gotta tell you, the dryers were not great either. They were so hot they shrank everything."

Derek looks bleakly at his laundry basket full of wet clothes. "I can't--I've only got three pairs of pants," he says.

Which is how Stiles ends up with Derek in his jeep again, staring silently out at the night. They make it about two blocks before Stiles can't stand the silence anymore and says, "So, wasn't that sorta--public? I mean, aren't you supposed to be keeping a low profile because of the Argents and all?"

"Yeah, well, my abandoned train car is a little short on washers and dryers."

"But I mean--can't you just skip the laundry? It seems a little...not very creature-of-the-night."

Derek growls, and Stiles throws up his hands for a second, gives Derek an "I surrender!" look before he gets hands and eyes back on the business of driving.

There's quiet again for a couple of minutes, Derek looking out his window again, and then he says softly, still turned away from Stiles, "Werewolf nose."


"Sensitive. I don't like to reek."


Stiles spends the rest of the drive wondering what the hell Derek does about bathing, because probably the train car isn't exactly chockful of bathtubs either, and very carefully not asking. Sometimes his decisions are good.

When they get to his house Stiles parks around back. No need for the neighbors to see Derek.

They get his laundry into the dryer and then just...stand there in the laundry room for a minute. Because Stiles would like to stretch out on the couch and read his comics, but it would be rude to ignore a guest, but it's crazy to think of a homicidal werewolf as a guest, but...

"You, uh, hungry?" Stiles says.

Stiles makes a tower of grilled-cheese sandwiches. Derek eats four.

When he's done he actually leans back in his chair, rubs at his belly a little, which is the most relaxed Stiles has ever seen the guy. His shirt rides up some with the rubbing, and yup, there are those abs, those are some amazing abs. Stiles is really mostly mostly into girls but those abs are, and he's pretty sure he's staring now, and he can't seem to stop, and now Derek is staring at him staring, and Stiles blurts, "You wanna wash what you've got on?"

Sometimes he would really like to take his brain out and kick it.

Derek just keeps looking at him, and Stiles finally manages, "You said you only had three pairs of pants, and since the washer ate one you've only got one clean pair left, right? Math."

"Math," Derek says flatly.


Derek stands up and peels his shirt off, and then, oh, wow, then he's going for his jeans button, and Stiles is certainly absolutely going to tell him he didn't mean it like that any second now, except he doesn't, and he doesn't some more, and by the time he finishes not saying any of that stuff he meant to say Derek is standing in his kitchen in boxer shorts.

Those abs are...they are still happening.

Derek keeps looking at Stiles while he picks up his clothes. Derek's breathing is fast and loud. Stiles thinks maybe his is too.

For a really long few seconds then Derek's just standing there with his clothes in his arms, and Stiles is staring at him, and it wasn't just the buzzing fluorescent laundromat lights, Derek looks a little smaller here too, a little less terrifying than usual. Maybe it's because he's almost naked, maybe it's because it's hard to be too scared of someone you just cooked for.

Stiles steps forward to take the pile of clothes, and the back of his hand brushes against Derek's chest, and the skin is so hot there, god, and Stiles' brain just goes offline completely.

"Uhhhhhnnnnnnnh," he says.

Derek leans, really really slowly, closes that couple of inches between them at the rate of approximately forever, and when their lips meet Derek moans too.

Stiles tenses up at the moan, because that's going to turn into a growl, right? And then it's going to turn into a howl and then Derek's going to leap on him and then it's going to be some kind of bloodbath because that's probably how werewolves--mate, right?

But nothing like that happens. What happens is Derek kisses him ridiculously softly, just the lightest brush of lips, not even any tongue.

And then pulls back, and looks at Stiles.

And Stiles growls. And leaps on him.

Derek carries him up the stairs with Stiles' legs wrapped around his waist, almost runs up the stairs like Stiles weighs nothing at all.

Derek tosses him on his bed, and wow, okay, here is where things are getting a little fast and rough and werewolfy, because now Derek is yanking Stiles' clothes off. His shoes get flung into corners, and his t-shirt almost takes his ears off with it when Derek jerks it over his head, and he's not sure his jeans zipper survives the tugging-down-his-legs process.

Weirdly, this is not making Stiles terrified. What it is making him is hard.

When Stiles is fully stripped Derek pulls his own boxers off, and Stiles bites his lip at the sight of--everything, all of Derek all at once, his thigh muscles and tight dark nipples and open panting mouth and his cock, wow, that's just--

"Beautiful, man, you are so beautiful, Jesus, unbelievable, how do you--do you have a gym set up in that train car, how do you--"

Derek climbs on top of Stiles and kisses him, with tongue this time, and Stiles shuts up because his mouth is full, but also because he doesn't want to talk, he wants to kiss, and Derek tastes like grilled cheese which Stiles always liked before but now it is the best taste in the universe ever because it comes with Derek's cock rubbing against his.

"Oh god," Stiles says, and Derek gets a hand between them, wraps it around both of them and squeezes and pulls, just gets right into a hard fast rhythm and Stiles says, "Whoa, wait, I can't--" but it's too late, he's already coming.

He's gasping and his cock is jerking and pulsing and when he's done dying of pleasure he's going to die of embarrassment, because that was way too fast, but god, god he couldn't help it.

Derek doesn't seem to mind, though, Derek is moaning into Stiles' ear and holding onto Stiles' shoulder hard with his free hand and rocking against him. Stiles shivers and comes a little more, one last pulse, and then his whole body goes into some kind of super relaxation mode; it feels like he sinks a couple inches more into the bed.

"Wow," he says, and then Derek's cock still rubbing up against him starts to hurt his a little, so he adds, "Ow," and Derek lets go. He kneels up and swipes his palm across Stiles' wet stomach, wraps it around his own cock again and just goes for it, jerking himself fast.

Stiles just watches. Derek breathes loud and ragged, the rhythm of his hand speeding up until he makes a tiny broken noise, curls around his cock and comes all over Stiles' stomach and chest.

He collapses beside Stiles. Stiles wipes himself off some with the sheets--he's so gonna have to wash these. But he's not jumping up to do laundry now, because that might make Derek feel weird about what just happened, and by the way, what the fuck just happened?

Stiles ponders that for a minute, then decides that doesn't matter nearly as much as making sure it happens again, so he says, "Sorry about the, uh, speed there. Teenager and all. Flip side is I'll be ready to go again in ten minutes or so." He waggles his eyebrows at Derek, even though he has never been able to figure out with intensive mirror checking if that looks seductive or hilarious.

Derek gives him a tiny bit of a smile, score, but then says, "That was stupid."

"Oh," Stiles says. "Oh, yeah, right, that was--what was I thinking, that was crazy, totally not even thinking about doing that again, no way."

"No," Derek says, "I mean--it was stupid to get upset that my pants got destroyed. I'm training my pack for war, here, I'm trying to make sure we all live, it's stupid to get distracted by something so tiny--I don't know what that was about."

"I do," Stiles says.

"Oh, you do, huh?" Derek says, and now he's grinning all the way, looking at Stiles like sure, you go ahead and tell me all about myself.

"It's because you have all this really important stuff going on. Once I--it was about a month after my mom--well, anyway, I thought I was fine, and then I started crying because this vending machine only had plain Combos when I really wanted pizza-flavored Combos."

Derek stops smiling and just looks at Stiles for a while, and then says, "Huh."

"Yeah," Stiles says. He's warm and relaxed, and yeah he could go again in a few minutes but Derek kind of ignored that suggestion so probably this was a one-time thing, a really, really bizarre one-time thing. What the hell, that was way better than jerking off, and maybe the next time they meet Derek will be at least a little less likely to actually kill him, and with that comforting thought he's alllmost dropped off to sleep when he remembers, "Hey, we gotta get your clothes out of the dryer, my dad cannot come home to find your clothes in the dryer and. Uh. You in my bed. Without your clothes."

"We'll get them out in a while," Derek says. "I could use some dessert."

"Man, grilled cheese is pretty much my whole repertoire," Stiles says. "I could maybe manage some instant pudding?"

"Not what I meant," Derek says, and pulls Stiles over on top of him.

"Oh," Stiles says, and yeah, the laundry can wait.