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I'm Thinking We Should Cross the Line

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The show is over. Finally. The last couple months have been agony. Not just because of the never-ending practicing and rehearsals, the tight schedules, the constant suspense of who would make it through to the next round; it’s been months of pushing his feelings down, not even daring to let them out through his song writing, afraid he wouldn’t be able to push them back down was they started pouring out.

Derek nods to familiar faces on their way out to one of the after parties. They barely notice him, their minds already at the party, and probably already a little drunk, too. He’s grateful. At least they won’t stop to talk to him. He would not be able to hold up his end of a conversation at the moment. The adrenaline rushing through his veins right now has him more on edge than in the minutes before the winner was announced. As a coach, he was on the edge of his seat, of course, but it hadn’t been about him. Now, though…

He takes a deep breath, holds it for a second, and knocks on Stiles’ dressing room door.

‘Come in!’

‘Hey,’ Derek says, forcing his nerves out of his voice.

‘Derek!’ Stiles’ smile is bright and mischievous. With that smile and his voice, no wonder he got to where is now. ‘Come to rub my loss in my face?’

‘What loss? Finstock still signed you,’ Derek reminds him. He closes the door behind him. The noises from the hallway fade until they’re almost inaudible, and he realizes he’s alone with Stiles. That was the plan, but it really hits him now. He hasn’t allowed himself to be alone with Stiles since the first time he saw him, not once. Now, it’s just him and Stiles.

‘So, if not to gloat, what brings you here?’ Stiles asks. ‘Ask for a duet for your new album now that I’m a superstar?’ He smirks and winks.

An involuntary smile pulls at Derek’s lips, and he shakes his head. ‘No, I’ll have my agent contact you about that.’

‘Oooh, professional,’ Stiles coos.

‘I did come to ask you something though.’ Derek swallows, his heart hammering in his chest. He knows he’s not wrong about the flirtations whenever they talked, the looks Stiles threw him during many of his performances, but a small voice in the back his head keeps asking: what if you are wrong?

‘Ask away,’ Stiles says, his voice is softer, expectant, his joking manner gone.

‘Your last song tonight, did you...?’ Derek can’t finish the question, nerves cutting off his voice.

Stiles nods. ‘I sang it for you.’

Derek feels like he’s flying and he has to look down to make sure that his feet are still on the ground. When he looks back up, Stiles is standing right in front of him. He reaches out and takes Stiles’ hands in his. It feels so good to be finally able to do this.

‘Would you like to go on a date?’ Derek asks.

‘Fuck yes,’ Stiles whispers with fervour, then bites his lip. ‘Wow, that didn’t sound desperate all,’ he snorts.

‘Well, the situation was getting pretty desperate,’ Derek says. ‘I’ve been wanting to ask you out since the moment I saw you.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. I was upset, at first, that Deaton pushed the button sooner, but when I saw you I was relieved. A coach falling for one of their contestants would’ve been pretty inappropriate.’

‘I’m not a contestant anymore,’ Stiles reminds him, moving closer until they’re toe to toe. ‘And you’re not a coach.’

Derek bumps their noses. ‘Can I kiss you?’

‘Fuck yes.’

Derek closes the final inch between them. Stiles smells like sweat, deodorant, and make-up; he tastes like those god-awful energy drinks he loves. And it’s amazing. Derek moves his hands to Stiles’ waist and pulls their bodies flush together, as Stiles slides his hands into Derek’s hair, tilting his head and deepening the kiss.

He has no idea how long the kiss lasts, but when they finally break apart for air and he catches sight of himself in the mirror, his face is flushed and his hair is a mess. His lips are red and a little swollen. Stiles doesn’t look any less debouched, with his shirt half untucked and red splotches of beard burn around his mouth. Both their eyes look a little glazed.

‘That was nice,’ Stiles sighs.

‘Yeah.’ Derek realizes his hands are still fisted in Stiles’ shirt. He lets go to place his hands on Stiles’ hips. ‘Do you have a date for the afterparty?’

Stiles blinks. ‘You want to go on a date right now?’ he asks. The wonder is easily read on his face.

‘Do you want to wait another day?’

‘Fuck no,’ Stiles grins, shaking his head. ‘But maybe another fifteen minutes so we can both change and look less like we’ve been making out?’

‘Okay.’ Derek lets go and turns towards the door. ‘You want to take the same car?’

Stiles nods. He looks so happy that Derek has to reel him back in for another kiss.

‘I’ll see you there in fifteen,’ Derek says.

‘It’s a date.’