It’s horrible. It’s their first date tonight, mere hours from now, and it’s horrible! The worst is supposed to be over!
It had taken Derek literally months of gathering his courage to ask Stiles out, and everyone he whined to (in a very composed and dignified manner, thank you very much) about it had assured him that, once the question was popped, it would be a lot easier. But no, it most definitely is not!
He’s on his eighth henley in front of the mirror, and while it might have been the right one an hour ago, right now all it’s good for is wiping off his nervous sweat and going straight into the hamper.
”Stop freaking out,” Laura huffs at him from the door as he whips off his shirt again. ”Stilinski could barely say yes fast enough when you finally stopped being a wuss and asked him! I’ll bet you could show up wearing clown shoes and he’d still wanna get in your pants.”
”Oh god, my shoes,” Derek moans, and starts freaking out about those instead. They’re just sneakers. Should he wear nicer shoes? Does he have nicer shoes?!
Laura watches him unravel for another few seconds before marching into the room and forcibly sitting him down on his bed. ”Stay.”
He does what he’s told, because he has officially reached his limit for how much he can panic. While he sits in frozen terror, Laura throws a sheet over the mirror, digs out one of the many discarded shirts and tosses it in his face. Once he’s got it on, she slaps his letterman jacket into his lap as well, runs her fingers through his hair briskly enough to yank out a few tangles by the roots, and then shoves him down the stairs and through the front door.
”Want something to really be nervous about?” she asks him on the porch, and presses her car keys into his hand. ”One dent, and you’ll be known as no-dick Derek.”
He stares down at the keys to the Camaro, which he’s only ever been allowed to drive once, and as much as he hates to admit it, it does divert some of his fear of fucking up his date to more immediate concerns. A quick look at his phone informs him that he doesn’t actually have time to be freaking out anymore anyway, because he said he’d pick Stiles up at seven. So he decides to show some goddamn courage, and gets on his way. He’s still damp with nervous sweat and his stomach is still tying itself into twisty knots, but he’s going.
”Wow!” Stiles gushes the minute Derek pulls up to the curb, and he worries for a minute that he’s late after all, since Stiles is already out there waiting for him, but those fears are thankfully put to rest almost immediately. ”Dude, Laura let you have the Camaro for tonight?!” Stiles chatters, and doesn’t wait for Derek to try anything chivalrous like opening the door for him before plopping into the passenger seat on his own. ”Man, you should have seen my dad’s face when he saw you turning onto our street, I thought he was gonna start cleaning his gun or something, so I decided to wait outside to spare you that, at least for now.” He gives a small wave out the window towards the Sheriff, leaning in the doorway watching them like a hawk, and Derek is really starting to feel that no one should have to fear for their lives so many times in one night. ”Come on, let’s go! The movie starts in half an hour, and there might be a line for popcorn!” Stiles urges, and Derek has always been helpless against whatever Stiles wants, so he sets off, determinedly keeping his eyes on the road, and not on the judging face of Stiles’ father.
Stiles keeps talking non-stop the ten minutes it takes to drive to the movie theater, and he doesn’t pause for breath even as they go inside, get tickets and get in the thankfully short line to buy popcorn. As he talks on and on about something Derek is pretty sure is related to the politics of the Marvel universe, Derek allows himself to subtly glance at him. Looking at Stiles directly still feels like looking into the sun, like it has from the first day Derek saw him, but small looks out of the corner of his eye only confirms what he already knows. Stiles looks gorgeous.
It’s quite possible Derek has some kind of geek fetish, but since he’s pretty much the epitome of high school jock himself, he doesn’t feel too bad about falling ass over elbows for someone just as glaringly stuck in a stereotype as he is. In fact, if Derek didn’t know better he’d suspect Stiles of playing up his geeky looks just for Derek, because not only is he wearing his usual glasses and button-down, he’s added a very 50’s librarian-style knitted sweater vest and a tie. Derek is gonna die from sexual frustration before his eighteenth birthday. Only Stiles’ hair is the usual wild mess, like he gave up on even trying to tame that, and it makes Derek happy to know that Stiles isn’t actually trying to restrain or control himself for Derek’s sake. He wouldn’t want Stiles any other way than he is.
They get popcorn and drinks, and it’s only as they’re making their way to their seats that Derek realizes that they’re in the back row. He’d just picked whatever seats were left when he bought them, because it was kinda short notice, and Stiles really wanted to watch this particular movie. And apparently that means the very back of the room, almost by the aisle. Derek feels his palms sweat again immediately, because he didn’t mean to send the wrong signals. He didn’t just ask Stiles here to make out in the dark! Not that he doesn’t want to, because he does, oh boy, does he ever. But Stiles deserves better for a first date, and Derek spends at least a full minute working himself into a panic over how to apologize for his blunder, but then Stiles turns to him with a beaming smile, and Derek’s stomach stops churning. However, it starts all over again when Derek is struck by the thought that maybe this means Stiles is expecting him to make a move of some kind, and he sits stiffly in his seat, listening to Stiles offer some expansive and mind-blowing theories related to the plot of the movie they’re about to watch.
It’s clear from all the joyful talking, though, that Stiles is very excited for the movie, so Derek takes a few deep breaths, and tries to just enjoy Stiles’ company. He doesn’t really care one way or the other about whatever they’re about to watch. It’s something with explosions and super heroes, and Stiles is clearly very invested. Derek would frankly rather read books or watch documentaries, but it doesn’t matter, though, because he’d watch ten hours of grass growing if it made Stiles happy.
”This is awesome,” Stiles whispers quite loudly as the previews start, and Derek turns to find bright, happy eyes twinkling at him in the darkness. ”Thank you so much for tonight.”
Derek can’t even offer a basic you’re welcome in return, but he hopes Stiles understands he’s just as happy to be there from how helplessly he smiles back.
Barely fifteen minutes into the movie Stiles has finished his own popcorn and Derek has offered his own. It’s not like he can eat anything anyway with how much his stomach is bouncing around. He’s grateful for his soda, though, sipping continuously to combat his dry mouth. It doesn’t help his nerves any that Stiles is a fidgeter. Derek knew this already, but there was no way he could be prepared for how their knees and elbows bump every few minutes, no matter what happens on the screen. Derek also doesn’t know how to handle Stiles’ need to comment all the time, leaning in every so often to whisper some factoid or meta theory, his warm breath washing over Derek’s cheek and making him shiver deliciously.
”That guy is actually an olympic runner in real life, did you know that?”
Derek shakes his head, and savors the feeling of Stiles’ arm and shoulder pressed up against his as he leans in. In fact, it seems like he’s pressing in closer every time, and okay, Derek is perfectly happy with being labeled a dumb jock, but he’s not actually an idiot, and by the time Stiles presses in so close he knocks Derek’s arm off the armrest, there’s no doubt that he’s eager to be closer. That said, it still takes Derek another few minutes to gather his courage enough to very carefully ease his arm around Stiles’ shoulders, stupidly trying to be casual about it, sipping his soda to pretend like he isn’t about to die from nerves. There was no need to worry, though, because Stiles doesn’t hesitate to burrow into his side, and the rest of the movie all his comments are whispered against Derek’s neck, which is definitely some kind of torture.
The movie could have been two hours of Derek’s god-awful baby pictures, and he wouldn’t have remembered even a second of it. All he can remember is the feeling of Stiles’ lips brushing against his neck or his ear as he talked, and Derek’s legs are kinda wobbly by the time the credits are rolling. To his luck, though, Stiles demands they wait to see if there’s a post credits scene, and he’s very vocal about his disappointment when there isn’t one, giving Derek time to compose himself and find his balance while Stiles rants adorably at the empty screen. Not that it matters, because the moment they step outside, Stiles grabs his hand like it’s a perfectly natural thing to do, and Derek lets himself be pulled along like on a string, all the way across the parking lot to the Camaro. Stiles is still holding his hand, though, so Derek doesn’t make even the tiniest move to get in, because that would mean letting go.
”I had a really great time tonight,” Stiles says, looking oddly contained, his smile smaller but also somehow sweeter than the wide grins he’s been sporting all night. It takes Derek a moment to realise that it’s Stiles trying to look alluring. Obviously he has no clue that literally everything he does drives Derek crazy, and he makes a mental note to tell Stiles this if they ever date for long enough that Derek stops feeling tongue tied around him.
”Me too,” he manages, and watches Stiles squirm for another few seconds before deciding he might as well try his luck again. ”Can I-”
”Yes!” Stiles cuts him off, and crashes into him, lips first, shocking the hell out of Derek. He was gonna ask for a second date, but this is… oh god, this is heaven.
It’s not making out as much as just exchanging tiny kisses, but Derek is floating by the time Stiles pulls away several minutes later. ”I… I was gonna ask for another date, but… this is… this is good too,” he says dazedly, and watches with fascination as Stiles’ face colors across the bridge of his nose.
”Okay then!” Stiles squeaks, and makes his escape to the passenger side of the car. Derek isn’t about to be outwitted this time, though, and doesn’t unlock the car until he can follow Stiles to the other side and open the door for him. So he has some tiny chivalry fantasies, sue him.
Stiles seems to get it, though, and doesn’t object when they make it back to his house again, and Derek makes sure to walk him to his front door too. Any ideas he had about trying to take initiative for a goodnight kiss are dashed, though, because Stiles doesn’t wait for him to gather his courage this time either, just pulls him in impatiently, and shamelessly presses their bodies together in all the good places until the sheriff starts flashing the porch light. Derek thanks heaven for small favors that he didn’t choose to instead open the door with a gun in hand or something.
”Text me,” Stiles breathes against him, and kisses him one more time before pulling away and going inside.
It’s sheer luck that Derek doesn’t dent the Camaro, because he sure isn’t all that focused on his driving on the way home.