After New Year’s there’s always a bunch of new members at Stiles’ gym. Based on history he knows that the crowd will thin out in February, and by March it’s just the regulars again. Still, he takes interest in a newcomer lifting weights nearly every weekday morning in January and hopes he’ll stick around. Stiles tries not to stare too hard when the guy does squats, but his ass in those shorts is glorious, and most of the other gym rats agree. The gym is a meat market, no doubt about it. Normally Stiles would balk at this kind of objectification, but Gym Guy is certainly more interesting to watch than the shitty daytime television that plays on the screens overhead. Beyond aesthetics, the guy is just Stiles’ type--hot like fire, but with an air of steely coolness.
Stiles tries to go to the gym five times a week, and not just for the eye candy either. It’s the hour a day he has to himself, and it’s important for his sanity. Between working full-time as a Sheriff’s deputy and raising his son as a single dad, there’s not a lot of time for Stiles to be on his own. Even though Stiles notices the guy at the gym consistently for a couple of months, he has no serious plans to make his interest known. Sometimes when Lydia or Erica bug him about dating he’ll mention he’s got his eye on Gym Guy, but that’s the extent to which he’ll admit he’s got a crush.
Stiles catalogs a bunch of little facts about Gym Guy, but in a non-creepy way. Being observant is a trick of the trade for law enforcement. Mason, who works the front desk most mornings, greets Gym Guy as Derek. Stiles is fairly certain Derek has at least two kids. One time Derek walked in with a hot pink water bottle. He grumbled about it, but drank from it anyway. Stiles has also spotted Derek carrying a small blue camo print gym bag with the initials JH stitched on it. He grumbled louder about that mix-up and left without doing his daily workout. He drives a fancy Mercedes SUV and the bumper has two stickers announcing ‘My Kid was the Student of the Month at Orchard Elementary’ and ‘Proud Member of the BHHS Marching Band Boosters Club.’
Like Stiles, Derek arrives at the gym at about 8:30, most likely after morning drop-off at the elementary school. Stiles usually runs on the treadmill or uses the elliptical machine and then alternates between circuit training and strength training on some of the weight machines. Derek sticks to lifting weights and does the morning spin class right as Stiles leaves the gym at 9:30. Stiles would love to stick around and watch Derek’s form on the stationary bike like all the women that crowd the spin room, but he has to be in bed by ten to sleep. Stiles can only assume that Derek has taken a vow of celibacy or is gay, because he completely ignores the signals all the ladies throw at him. Stiles hopes it’s the latter. Derek is single, according to Mason who heard it from Liam who works in sales.
Stiles wonders what Derek does for work. He vacillates between theories--he’s either independently wealthy and doesn’t have a job or he’s like Stiles and works nights. Stiles doesn’t mind working the night shift permanently. He gets to be with Sebastian after school until Malia gets home from work. It leaves Stiles just enough time for a power nap and a meal before he starts his shift. The only things that suffer are Stiles’ split sleep schedule and his social life, but those are small sacrifices.
Stiles occasionally runs into Derek around town. Beacon Hills isn’t all that big, so it’s inevitable that he sees him at the pizza place one Friday afternoon before the dinner rush, and sometimes on Sunday mornings at the grocery store when it’s Stiles’ turn to bring the champagne for mimosas at Lydia’s. Derek doesn’t exactly acknowledge Stiles, but Stiles’ theory is that Derek is too cosmopolitan for Beacon Hills and either doesn’t notice or care that most townies greet each other whether they know each other or not. Stiles can’t help it if maybe his gaze lingers a bit longer than is strictly polite, but again, Derek doesn’t seem to notice or mind.
It’s at one of those brunches that Lydia asks Stiles about Gym Guy and Stiles admits that it’s entirely possible Gym Guy hasn’t noticed his existence.
“Yet another in the long line of Stiles’ crushes,” Scott teases.
“You don’t know.” Stiles puffs his chest out. “I could totally bag him, if I wanted.”
“But you don’t want to,” Allison jokes.
“Exactly. I’m focusing on me. It’s the era of Stiles’ personal growth and achievement,” he insists.
“It’s not because you’re chicken or anything, right?” Lydia mocks him.
Malia smiles and interjects, “I’m sure it’s because Stiles is being a responsible dad and thinking with something other than his--”
“--tiny--” Jackson interrupts with a lewd hand gesture and all.
“I was going to say heart,” Malia finishes and glares at Jackson.
“You over-think things, Stiles,” Lydia says. “Maybe this guy isn’t even worth pining over. Maybe he’s dumb as rocks.”
“Stiles could do worse than pretty and dumb,” Danny supplies.
“Says the guy dating the himbo.” Lydia does not look impressed.
“Hey, hey. Let’s not judge a book by its cover,” Stiles says in Danny’s defense. Stiles has seen Danny’s newest boyfriend, and if he didn’t already know the depths of Danny’s sincerity, he’d be right there ready to tease him too. “Anyway, if you’re all quite finished, I just want to say that there’s no point to my crush on Gym Guy other than it’s a great incentive to go for the extra fifteen minutes on the treadmill. It’s harmless fun, and I’m going to keep it that way. I don’t have time for a relationship.” The groups tires of the subject and they move on. It’s routine to razz Stiles every so often about his lack of a love life, and usually it doesn’t bother him. Usually.
His friends’ comments stay with him for the next week and put him in a weird head space. Stiles feels hyper-aware of his crush, and decides that his only course of action is to ignore it. Unfortunately for Stiles, he also spots Derek around town a lot more than usual--first, at a stop light while Stiles is on duty, and later that week at the hardware store. Stiles is with Sebastian and they’re on a mission to find a plunger and Draino. Stiles walks by quickly and doesn’t even try to make eye contact. The third time Stiles sees Derek feels like fate. Stiles spots him in the pick-up lane at the elementary school. Derek is several cars behind him, and Stiles feels like a creeper for watching him in his rearview mirror.
Stiles attempts to ignore his interest in the mysterious Gym Guy, but it only reminds him further how single he is. He’s not dating, and not even trying to date. When Stiles feels like he’s gotten over his stupid whatever crush, he realizes he’s not just single but now he’s single and not looking, which is both freeing and terrifying. Whatever feeling he had when he looked at Derek gets replaced with something that feels a lot like loneliness. Winter drags on with endless gray fog, rain, and the occasional frost. Sometimes Stiles wishes he had someone to cuddle with on the couch, or someone to keep him warm in bed, but they’re fleeting thoughts. Stiles has Sebastian, his dad, his friends, work, and the gym. It’s enough. It’s actually a lot to handle on most days, and sometimes Stiles feels like he can barely juggle it all.
In mid-March, when all the other New Years resolution people have stopped coming to the gym, Derek finally warms up to an actual head nod when he passes Stiles. It makes Stiles embarrassingly giddy and he feels positively high off of the acknowledgment after months of absolutely nothing. Stiles’ crush comes back with a vengeance, and he contemplates introducing himself to Derek, and then that escalates into Stiles envisioning asking Derek out for a post-workout smoothie at the juice place across the street. But another two weeks go by and each day Stiles finds reasons not to go through with it.
“But why do the games have to be at 9 AM on Saturday morning?” Stiles whines.
Malia snorts. “To torture parents.”
“Look, we can alternate weekends with Seb just like we always do, if you want. He’ll understand,” Malia offers half-heartedly.
Stiles shakes his head. “No, no. I want to be there for his games if he wants me there. I don’t care if it’s not my weekend. I’m going to make obnoxious signs and be there on the sidelines cheering him on.”
“I’m glad you want to be there, because I really don’t want to go every Saturday, and he doesn’t seem to care half as much about my presence. It’ll be good that you can go consistently to support him.” Malia gives him an impish grin.
“Wait! What? But you’re the one who signed him up, and you didn’t even ask me!”
“I could really use the time for myself. And I did ask you in the first week of February when sign ups came out.” Malia puts her hands on her hips. “I can see you weren’t paying attention.”
Stiles throws his hands up in the air out of frustration. “You know better than to ask me important things after a shift. My brain is fried. And what do you need time for?” Stiles feels old resentments creeping up to the surface. He should walk away from the conversation, but instead he doubles down. “I run your errands with Seb after school. I do your dishes and clean your house. I do Sebastian’s laundry and help him with his homework!”
Malia levels him with a contemptuous look. She’s never asked him to do those things, and she makes a point of telling him how much she appreciates his help on a regular basis. But Stiles knows she won’t stand for him throwing it in her face, and the last thing he wants to do is pick a fight with her.
“Stiles, you have your hour every day at the gym. Can’t I have every other weekend to do grown up things? I’m at work eight to five and then I rush home to be with Sebastian. He’s starting to stay up later and later, so on a good day I have an hour to myself, and usually I’m so tired that I spend it in my sweats on the couch half-asleep.”
Stiles wants to ask what more she wants, but he gets the impression he won’t like her answer. It isn’t a secret that Malia goes out on dates, she was clear about it with him from the start. But Malia’s never introduced anyone to their son before, and it makes perfect sense that Malia would want her weekends off for her more adult activities.
Stiles sighs heavily. “Fine.”
Malia purses her lips. “You know, if you had someone…” she trails off and shakes her head. “You know, nevermind.”
Stiles nods. It’s another old wound, and she knows better than to pick at it.
When Stiles and Malia ended up with an unplanned pregnancy at nineteen, Stiles wanted to try and make a relationship between them work. Their romance started off hot and heavy, but the love that grew out of it was strictly as friends. They gave it the old college try, but Malia moved out with Sebastian before he was three years old. Malia always knew what she wanted and she wasn’t afraid to go after it. Stiles both admired and hated that about her. Stiles had never been in a serious relationship before becoming a father, and he’d never looked for one since. Hooking up with Malia was a happy accident because Stiles got Sebastian out of it. He always wanted to be a father, but never imagined it would happen when he was practically still a kid himself.
Stiles spots Derek at the smoothie shop across the street from the gym early on a crisp April morning--it’s not even 7 AM yet. For some reason, and Stiles will deny it has anything to do with Derek in joggers, he decides that maybe this is the perfect chance to introduce himself. After five minutes of surreptitiously checking Derek out, he makes his move.
“Hey, Derek, right?” Stiles says when they bump shoulders standing at the counter waiting for their drink orders.
Derek looks over at Stiles and recognition dawns on him. “You’re a member over at Beacon Hills Athletic Club, right?”
Stiles extends a hand, “Nice to actually meet you.”
Derek nods and gives him a subtle once over. “Likewise.” Derek shakes his hand and his touch sends a zing up Stiles’ spine. Derek’s grip is firm and his palm is warm. He holds on for a second longer than strictly necessary. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your first name, Deputy,” Derek glances down at the name patch on his shirt, “Stilinski.”
Apparently Stiles has lost all his social graces, not that he ever had them. “Sorry. Hi, I’m Stiles,” he stutters. “I shouldn’t have assumed you knew my name.”
Derek grins sheepishly, and somehow it makes him less intimidating and more adorable than Stiles thought possible.
“I don’t usually talk to people at the gym,” Derek says.
“No, me neither,” Stiles admits. “It’s my time to just turn my brain off.” He gestures with his hands.
“Totally. I’m just in the zone, or whatever,” Derek agrees.
Stiles searches for the words to keep the conversation going, but can’t.
Luckily, Derek fills in the gap. “Your uniform threw me off for a second, but I definitely recognize you.” Derek smiles.
Stiles looks down at his khaki uniform and hopes he doesn’t have donut crumbs or coffee stains on him. “Oh, yeah. I’m just finishing up a shift and grabbing a quick breakfast before I go pick up my kid and take him to school.”
“Really?” Derek looks interested.
Stiles knows he looks young for his age, always has, and it usually shocks the hell out of people when they find out he has a kid as old as Sebastian.
“I just dropped my high schooler off for zero period,” Derek says and shakes his head. “Can you believe there are classes before the official start time? I didn’t know there was anything before first period.”
Stiles smiles. “That explains why you’re out at this ungodly hour.”
Derek snorts. “I’m headed back to pick up my youngest for elementary school.”
Stiles feels like this could be his opening with a guy like Derek. “Hey, maybe we could get our kids together?” He only wants to kick himself a little bit for using his son to hit on a guy.
Derek raises his eyebrows. “I don’t know...” he trails off sounding uncomfortable with the suggestion.
Stiles shakes his head. “I don’t normally--”
Derek cuts him off, “--Maybe we could go out sometime. Alone.” Derek looks surprised at his own offer, but he doesn’t take it back.
“What? Yeah, yes.” Stiles stumbles over his words. “Definitely,” he finally manages, and desperately hopes he sounds more sure of himself than he actually feels.
“How about dinner?” Derek suggests.
Dinner sounds like a lot of pressure on Stiles for his first time out of the gate after such a long dry spell. “How about a walk.”
Derek looks confused. “A walk?”
“You don’t need to buy me dinner, is all I mean.” Stiles hates the awkwardness when the bill arrives. He generally prefers to split the check or pick up the tab when he can, but he’s not exactly flush with cash. Derek does not look like a cheap date, and Stiles doesn’t get paid for another week.
“Lunch?” Derek follows up.
Stiles laughs nervously. “Seriously, let’s just go for walk and we can talk. How about the trails at the nature preserve.”
Derek shrugs. “Okay,” he agrees, though he sounds uncertain. “When works for you?”
Stiles thinks that sooner may be better so he doesn’t have time to freak out too much. “I have Friday nights off. What are you doing this evening?”
Derek arrives just a couple minutes later and looks even hotter if possible with a classic pair of aviator sunglasses perched on his cheekbones. He’s in jeans too and a black henley with the sleeves rolled up. His dark hair is styled perfectly and it matches his designer stubble. There’s nothing ostentatious about him, but it all reads expensive.
“Hey, you made it,” Stiles greets him, trying to keep it cool.
Derek gives him a casual wave. “I’m not going to lie, I contemplated backing out.” Derek shoves his hands in his pockets. “I wasn’t sure if you meant this to be a date or…”
“Oh.” Stiles feels like maybe he misread the whole thing, or Derek did, and now it’s just awkward.
Derek gives him a worried, apologetic look. “No, it’s nothing to do with you.”
“It’s okay if you want to call this off.” Stiles’ confidence takes another plummet.
“No, no. I just meant that it’s been a really long time since...” Derek trails off. He takes his sunglasses off and hooks them over the front of his shirt. Stiles notices Derek’s blush, he’s faintly red from his cheeks to his neck.
Stiles feels better somehow. He grins at Derek hopefully. “Well, that makes two of us.”
“Can we just get this out in the open? Is this a date?” Derek asks impatiently.
Stiles grins. “Absolutely, if you want it to be. Otherwise, it’s just two dudes standing awkwardly in a parking lot.”
Derek laughs and looks instantly relieved. “Okay, it’s a date, then.”
Stiles feels the anxiety in his chest loosen. He points toward one of the easier trails through the preserve. “You want to walk for a bit?” Derek nods and follows his lead.
They’re on a well traveled trail wide enough for a few people at least, but Stiles and Derek seem to gravitate toward each other and walk side by side. Stiles brushes up against Derek’s broad shoulder and he doesn’t seem to mind in the least, Derek actually smiles and returns the gesture. Later, when they approach some low branches, Derek puts his hand to the small of Stiles’ back. Stiles has never encountered that kind of chivalry and it gives him a little thrill.
They make small talk about Beacon Hills--how it’s really grown in the last ten years, the traffic, and the weather. When Derek admits he’s from Beacon Hills, Stiles is really surprised.
“I never would have pegged you as a small town kind of guy,” he says.
“I grew up here, actually, but we moved to San Francisco when I was a teenager,” Derek explains.
“That’s cool. When I was a kid I always wanted to live in the city.”
Derek purses his lips. “Moving wasn’t exactly our choice,” he says cryptically. “My family is spread out now, but two of my sisters moved back to town a while ago.”
Stiles doesn’t really want to talk about family on a first date. His dead mother tends to be a downer for him, so he changes the subject back to something superficial. “What are your favorite local hot spots? Beacon Hills isn’t huge, but we’re not totally uncultured.”
“I’ve only been in town since the fall. What is that,” Derek counts out on his fingers, “seven months? I haven’t even exhausted Yelp yet. What’s your favorite coffee place?”
“Fran’s on Third,” Stiles says.
“No way, Java Junkie all the way,” Derek argues. “Laura, my older sister, she took me there a few years ago when we came for a visit. I like the vibe.”
Stiles gives him an affronted grin. “Their hipster coffee comes with fancy latte art and their sizes are small and smaller. You’ve got to be joking me.”
“Fran’s is good, but it’s more of a donut shop,” Derek counters.
“And nothing goes better with coffee than donuts.”
“Says the cop.” Derek elbows Stiles playfully.
Stiles bumps him back and grins. “Touché.”
“Cora likes Fran’s, too. She’s my younger sister.” Derek grins. “Favorite take-out place?”
Stiles laughs nervously. “I don’t know. Pizza, I guess. We don’t eat out much.” The truth is, take-out beyond pizza is just not in the budget. “I prefer to cook,” he deflects.
“That’s cool. I’m a terrible cook. Or so my daughter says. She’s banned me from the kitchen unless it’s packing Lunchables.” Derek’s eyes get soft.
Even though Stiles used his kid as a line on Derek, he’s reluctant to share details about Sebastian. Both he and Malia agreed that they would keep Sebastian shielded from their relationships unless they were serious, but it’s never been an issue for Stiles since he hasn’t really dated. Stiles feels intensely attracted to Derek, but he worries that nothing is less sexy than packing lunches, wiping noses, and checking spelling homework.
Stiles veers the conversation toward something a little more adult. “Hey, maybe I should show you my skills in kitchen sometime?”
Derek pauses a beat and then chuckles. “Oh, yeah?” Derek reaches out and holds on to Stiles’ wrist. His grip is light, giving Stiles an out, but Stiles doesn’t want to be anywhere else but here with Derek. “I thought you said no to dinner?” Derek’s tone is suggestive.
Stiles feels hopeful about where they’re headed. “Hmm…” Stiles checks their surroundings and notices that they’re alone. He pulls them into a copse of trees so that they have a bit more privacy from other runners and hikers on the trail. “How do you feel about dessert instead of dinner?” He practically purrs into Derek’s ear. Up this close, Stiles can see the way Derek swallows like his mouth has gone dry.
Derek leans in and lowers his voice. “I don’t know. What’s on the menu?” His breath on Stiles’ neck feels hot and something about being outside where anyone hiking the preserve might see them gives Stiles a thrill.
Stiles feels himself get hard in his jeans. He’s too excited to overthink this, he just wants Derek, and the way Derek grips his hips tells him the feeling is mutual. Stiles leans in further and chases Derek’s mouth with his own. He seeks the wet heat of Derek’s tongue and drags him closer with a hand to the nape of his neck. Derek takes a minute and then he starts to give as good as he gets. Stiles encourages him by making appreciative noises when Derek sneaks a large, warm hand underneath Stiles’ shirt.
“My place?” Stiles suggests between kisses.
Derek pulls back and looks at Stiles carefully. They study each other for a second. Derek’s eyes are a shade of green hazel that Stiles wants to get lost in. There’s lust there, but also nervousness. Stiles can relate--this is out of character for him--but he’s never been one to let his nerves get the better of him. Stiles wonders what Derek sees
Stiles grabs Derek by the hand and pulls him bodily back down the trail toward the parking lot. Stiles is halfway to his Jeep when he calls out to Derek to follow him. “I’m on Peach Street across from the park, can’t miss my place. It’s aqua with yellow trim.”
Stiles tries not to peel out of the parking lot and attempts to drive the speed limit back to his house. He tracks Derek in his rear view mirror to make sure he he’s able to follow. When they arrive at his house, Stiles hops out of the Jeep and dashes to the front door before Derek’s even found an open spot down the street to parallel park. Stiles rents a tiny one bedroom bungalow just off the main drag in downtown Beacon Hills. The living room is a disaster, but he honestly hadn’t anticipated bringing Derek back to his place for sex on the first date. This is so not like Stiles to bring someone home.
Stiles grabs the worst of the mess in the living room and shoves it in the miniscule hall closet. Sebastian leaves toys and shoes everywhere, but Stiles isn’t much better. Stiles’ bedroom looks like a tornado ripped through it. He can’t remember the last time he actually pulled the duvet up and fluffed the decorative throw pillows Lydia made him buy. He’s pretty sure there’s a stack of dirty dishes on his bedside table. The only place that’s really clean is the kitchen because he hardly uses it.
Derek raps his knuckles on the doorframe, the door still hanging wide open. “Should I come inside?”
Stiles tries to look nonchalant leaning up against the couch. “Yeah, come in, come in.”
Derek walks inside and closes the door behind him. He lingers in the entryway, a good three feet from where Stiles is in the living room. “I don’t usually,” he starts. His cheeks turn pink and he looks slightly winded. “I mean, I haven’t ever done something like this--”
“No, no, me either,” Stiles says to reassure him.
Derek gives him an accusatory look.
“I mean, usually I’m not this fast.” Only, that’s kind of a lie, Stiles is absolutely that fast. It’s how he and Malia ended up pregnant after hooking up that first time. And there was a period of time in his early twenties when Stiles was really exploring his sexuality. He explored it in back seats, in seedy alleys, bathroom stalls, and strangers’ beds. “Well, okay maybe I am. But it’s been a long time, is what I mean,” he clarifies.
Derek moves towards him nervously. “I meant what I said. I’ve never done something like this.”
Stiles believes him. Derek looks like he might bolt any second, but also like he’s magnetized and he can’t help moving closer and closer to Stiles.
“I promise I won’t bite,” Stiles teases.
Derek rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell me, unless I ask you to.”
Stiles laughs. “Hey, you stole my line.”
“How old are you?” Derek asks.
“Yeah, I know my sense of humor is pretty juvenile.” Stiles smirks.
“No, seriously, how old are you?”
“Oh, um, twenty-nine. Why?”
Derek clears his throat. “Just trying to figure out how bad of an idea this is.”
Derek rocks back on his heels and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “You’re not even thirty, so yeah, pretty bad.”
“I’m always a good idea.” Stiles snakes his hand out and pulls Derek in by the belt loops.
They don’t come up for air for the next hour. They’re just a tangle of limbs on the couch, and then the floor when they need more room to spread out. Stiles attacks Derek’s mouth, and he just knows he’s going to have an awful case of beard burn, but he can’t bring himself to care. Derek mewls and moans and lets himself be manhandled out of his shirt. Stiles appreciates all the weights Derek’s been lifting at the gym, he’s somewhere between ripped and jacked. He notices a healed wound on his Derek’s otherwise smooth chest that piques his curiosity, but then Derek cries out when he accidentally lays down on top of a stray Lego, and the moment to ask questions is gone.
“Sorry, sorry.” Stiles rubs at the tender spot on Derek’s back. “Better your back than your foot.”
“Amputation is the only solution when that happens,” Derek jokes as he stands up. He lifts Stiles up from the floor like he could bench press him easily.
Stiles likes the feeling of his legs wrapped around Derek when he carries him to the kitchen. “Here, here’s good,” Stiles says. “Cleanest room in the house.” Derek sets him down in front of the kitchen counter and pulls off his shirt in one swift motion.
“Thought you said you loved to cook,” Derek says while kissing Stiles’ collarbone.
Stiles shivers at the contact. “I do. I never said I cooked here though.” His kitchen is used for reheating whatever he made at Malia’s and that’s about it.
“Where--” Derek starts but Stiles cuts him off with a brutal kiss.
“Stop talking,” he commands. Stiles feels like he’s going to buzz right out of his skin. He hops down from the counter, drops to his knees, and proceeds to mouth the front of Derek’s jeans.
Derek makes a string of incoherent noises followed by a litany of oh gods. Derek runs his hands through Stiles’ hair, tugs at it, and it turns Stiles on so much that the only thought he has is getting Derek in his mouth immediately.
Stiles looks up as he unzips Derek’s fly, seeking approval. Derek moans and it sounds like a yes. Stiles looks down at the task at hand, Derek’s dick straining against the material of his underwear. Stiles does him a favor and releases him. Derek makes a strangled noise and drops his head back. He looks blissed out and Stiles hasn’t even begun to touch him yet.
His mouth waters, he can’t wait to suck Derek’s beautiful cock. It’s just the right size and uncut like Stiles’. “You look so good like this,” Stiles praises him.
Those words make Derek’s cock twitch, a bead of precome drips from the tip. Stiles licks his lips and mouths at Derek’s thick shaft. “Fuck,” Stiles says before he takes him inside his mouth. Stiles closes his eyes and just takes a moment to savor the feeling and taste of Derek on his tongue. Stiles likes getting head, but not like he loves giving it. And it’s been a really long time since he’s gotten to do this.
Stiles can’t remember the last time he had sex with someone he knows. There were hook-ups via an app he installed a few years ago, and sometimes they’d call or text for a while until someone got bored, but none of those people were someone he encountered on a regular basis in his real life. When it was over, it was over, and there were no hard feelings.
Being with Derek in his kitchen is something altogether different. He’s never let anyone in his house before. He hasn’t been this risky either, forgoing a condom, which he knows is stupid with a virtual stranger. The whole experience leaves him feeling high, and extremely vulnerable. For some reason though, he trusts Derek. Maybe it’s those dumb bumper stickers or the fact that he’s been just as nervous as Stiles the whole evening. So Stiles really wants to make this count, make it good for Derek, he wants Derek to remember him when he’s alone later in his house. He wants Derek to call him, and ask him out on a proper date, and this time Stiles won’t be weird and insist on keeping it casual. Stiles wants to get to know Derek and do the stupid shit couples do in TV and movies.
But first, Stiles wants to make Derek come. He swallows him down as far as he can, bobs his head and lets his throat open up. When Derek squirms and complains that he’s going to come too fast if Stiles doesn’t ease up, he slows the pace and teases the tip of his cock with his lips. He moans around the head, sucking and licking his slit. Derek seems to like it, if his pained gasps are anything to go by.
Stiles plays with Derek balls as much as his jeans and underwear will allow. He buries his face in Derek’s crotch and inhales. Stiles loses all sense of time and feels like he’s being controlled by only his baser instincts. He palms Derek’s ass through his jeans and when he’s finally had enough of the offending material, he lowers them further so he can sneak a finger in between his cheeks. Derek makes guttural noises and thrusts his hips, he’s an absolute wreck. Stiles loves it, can’t get enough of it, so he vocalizes it. “Yeah, fuck me. Fuck my mouth.”
Derek loses it. His thrusts become more powerful, but Stiles can tell he’s still holding back. Derek’s careful not to be too rough with Stiles. Stiles’ finger brushes against Derek’s rim and then Derek pushes back gently. Stiles is surprised to find him loose, and imagines that Derek worked himself open in the shower before they met up. The extra stimulation sends Derek over the edge. He comes suddenly in Stiles’ mouth. He swallows some of it and then lets Derek finish across his cheek and neck. Derek takes heaving breaths like he just completed an intense workout, not like Stiles sucked his brains out through his dick. Even though he’s clearly in dire shape, he manages to haul Stiles up so that he can kiss him. Stiles’ face is a mess, but Derek doesn’t notice or care. He smears his come all over his stubble and it sends shivers down Stiles’ spine.
Derek scrabbles to get his hands on Stiles’, fumbling with his skinny jeans. “How are you still wearing clothes?” he whines.
Stiles helps him out, unzips his fly and touches himself for relief. Stiles is rock hard, aching, and leaking profusely. There’s a large wet patch on his grey boxers. Derek pulls his pants and boxers down to his knees and then gets his fist around Stiles’ cock. He drags his foreskin down and back over the head again, slowly at first, so slow that Stiles nearly doubles over. “I’m not going to last long,” he warns.
Derek takes that as a challenge and works his hand up and down his length, rubbing the pad of his thumb over his sensitive head. Stiles tries to think about baseball, long division, couponing, anything to keep himself from coming. It’s impossible, Stiles keens and shoots his load over Derek’s hand and his exposed torso. Stiles feels like he blacks out for a second or two. He sags against Derek’s solid chest and tries to catch his breath. When he regains some awareness he takes a step back and gets a really good look at Derek. His dick is still out and his underwear looks a little worse for wear, but Derek somehow manages to still look beautiful, all fucked out and debauched.
Stiles doesn’t bother buttoning his jeans, he just sort of tucks himself back into his underwear, and then moves about the kitchen to find something to clean up their combined mess. “Here,” he says as he tosses a clean dish towel at Derek.
Derek catches it and stands there lamely. He moves to the sink and gets it wet, like he’s not quite sure what to do about his current state.
“Let me.” Stiles takes the towel from him and wipes up his face, neck, hands, and torso. “I’m pretty sure your shirt will cover the worst of the mess on your jeans.”
Derek reaches down and adjusts himself, zips up his jeans and frowns. He stands there awkwardly and silent, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know what. “So that was…” He doesn’t finish his sentence.
Stiles smiles. “I know.” He wants to say amazing, perfect, incredible, a religious experience, but he also wants to play it cool. He wipes up the mess on himself and tries to give Derek a cheeky grin.
“I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do now,” Derek says looking down.
Stiles finds it endearing. “You hungry?” It’s dinner time and Stiles has definitely worked up an appetite. He goes to the fridge and spots leftover homemade pizza. “I’m going to have a slice. You want?” He takes the container out to show Derek.
Derek looks twitchy, maybe a little embarrassed, which he really shouldn’t be considering what they just did together. “I guess.”
They sit on the floor with their backs against the cabinets while they eat cold pizza. It’s a little chilly with their shirts off, but Stiles isn’t going to complain about the view. Derek is in amazing shape, not that his own physique is anything to slouch at. Stiles has broad shoulders, sinewy forearms, and a flat stomach. He likes to joke that it’s his good genes, but he knows his workouts are essential.
“So, you asked me how old I am,” Stiles begins, remembering their conversation from earlier, “but you didn’t say how old you are.” Derek looks over at him, his expression unreadable. Stiles feels suddenly self-conscious, and it’s all too reminiscent of being an inexperienced teenager and how he used to act when he had a crush. “Um, how old are you? Not that it matters,” he finally says.
Derek clears his throat. “I turned forty-five in December.”
That’s not what Stiles had been expecting. He knew Derek was older than him--he’s got a little bit of grey in his otherwise jet black hair, and he’s got laugh lines around his eyes when he smiles--but their age difference is more significant than his initial estimate. Honestly, he doesn’t know why he’s so surprised, he knows Derek has a high school-age daughter. Derek is sixteen years older than Stiles, and with that age probably comes a lot of wisdom and experience. Stiles thinks that Derek probably has his life together. Derek’s a bona fide adult. Stiles knows the Mercedes SUV Derek drives is pricy, and he probably owns an actual house with more rooms than the people who live in it. Derek probably has an accountant to manage an investment portfolio, and a 401K with actual money it. Stiles wonders what the fuck Derek is doing with him.
Stiles looks around at his house, the kitchen floor provides a unique vantage point, and sees it how Derek must see it. It’s on the shabby side; the hardwood floors are ancient and creaky, the walls are the generic white all rentals come with, and he has very little in the way of decor. Some of Sebastian’s art is tacked up on the walls, there’s a fake palm tree in the living room, and cheesy lace curtains over the kitchen window. It’s cozy for just him and his kid, and he’s not here a whole lot anyway. His house is mainly a place for him to crash between shifts. Sebastian doesn’t even have his own room, he uses the makeshift sleeping loft when he’s over every other weekend.
Stiles is finally making decent money as a Sheriff’s deputy, but on top of his own rent he pays child support so that Malia and Sebastian can live in a nicer part of town. Sebastian has an actual full-sized room of his own at his mom’s. Raising a kid is not cheap. His kid grows like a weed--one month he outgrows all his shoes and the next it’s his jeans. Stiles has hefty student loans to pay off still, and a car payment on the gently used Jeep he bought when his blue beast finally died. Becoming a single parent at such a young age hasn’t been easy. He missed out on the traditional experiences of going to university and partying with friends. Instead, he worked two part-time jobs to support himself and his family, and it took him seven years to finish his bachelor’s degree and complete the police academy.
Stiles glances over at Derek and he looks so out of place in Stiles’ ugly kitchen, he’s too beautiful. Despite their age difference, and probably the disparity between their bank accounts, Stiles still really likes Derek and he hopes the feeling is mutual. “Forty-five,” he finally says, testing the number out loud. “That’s cool.”
After another stretch of silence, Derek stands up and wipes his hands on his jeans. “This is really awkward. Maybe I should go.”
Stiles grabs his arm gently. “No, don’t. I’m sorry I’m terrible at this whole conversation thing.”
Derek snorts. “I’ve never done this before, but what’s your excuse?”
“I’m really out of practice?” It’s more of a question than an admission. Stiles wracks his brain for anything less awkward to talk about than Stiles’ sex life. “Um, so tell me about your kids?”
Derek rolls his eyes. “Look, we don’t have to do this.” He heads to the living room in search of his shirt and shoes.
Stiles hops up too. “No, seriously, I’m really trying here.”
“It’s fine, really.” Derek slips his feet into his boots without the socks, just balls them up and shoves them in his back pocket. He pulls his henley on and pats his pants pockets for his keys.
“We said maybe we’d do a play date with the kids.” Stiles knows it’s a shitty move, especially since he spent the first half of the date avoiding any talk about his son.
“It was just a line, I get it.” Derek finds his keys and cell phone on the coffee table. “See you around, Stiles.” He storms out the door.
Stiles follows him and from the doorway calls out, “Wait, Derek, don’t go.”
But it’s too late, Derek’s already a dark figure halfway down the block. By the time Stiles gets his shirt and shoes on to go after him, Derek’s peeling out down the street like he’s a getaway driver.