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A Time for Everything, and Every Thing in Time

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A Time for Everything, and Every Thing in Time

There was a smidge of oil grease in the space next to Derek's right facial cheek and if Stiles were a better person, he might've warned him about it. But Stiles wasn't a better person, and he enjoyed seeing Derek less than immaculate but minus the blood and gore the sight normally held.

In truth, Stiles liked Derek in a lot of ways. Especially lately.

Not that the big idiot had caught on yet, of course. Then again, Stiles hadn't actually made it that obvious yet. He doubted even Lydia or Scott knew about his developing interest in the older werewolf.

Stiles frowned and watched as Derek continued to drain the old oil out of the Camero, mindless of how much of a mess it made of him.

He probably needed to know about the grease before he wiped his face with his forearm or something and made things worse. Only…maybe Derek could feel the grease there already and just didn't care. That seemed like a Derek thing to do.

The wolf didn't really strike Stiles as being vain about his appearance, even if he did always look as if he took the time to groom himself before going out anywhere.

"If you're just going to sit there watching me, the least you could do is make yourself useful and go get me a towel or something."

Stiles lifted a brow. "Excuse me? I am not your maid, Derek. You want a towel, you can damn sure go and get it yourself. Should've brought one out in the first place. You knew you were going to do this."

"Yeah, but I didn't know I'd have a pain in the ass just sitting around watching me do it." He grimaced as the oil dripped its last drops into the pan he held and quickly slid out from beneath the car, frowning over at Stiles. "Are you seriously not going to get me a towel?"

Rolling his eyes, Stiles pushed himself to his feet and stalked inside to grab one of the older towels donated by his dad a few weeks after the Hale house was rebuilt. Once he had one, the worst one, he went back outside and tossed it at Derek, hitting him in the face with it. "There, you big baby. I got you a towel."

Derek scowled at him, but thankfully didn't comment on his rudeness.

He also didn't get the oil off of his cheek.

Dammit. Stiles really should tell him it was there. He deserved to know.

Stiles opened his mouth, ready to come clean about the oil grease, but quickly lost the ability to speak when Derek's hands went to the bottom of his grease-stained, light-gray wife-beater, yanking it up and over his head.

It wasn't the first time Stiles had seen Derek sans shirt. It wasn't even the second or the third. Nor was it the only time he'd ever seen the striking werewolf's smooth, bronze skin glisten in the late afternoon sun.

It was, however, the first time Stiles popped a serious boner over it.

Within scenting distance of Derek, that is.

"Seriously, Stiles? You couldn't save your stupid little fantasy time for when you go home? I don't want to be smelling your want all afternoon. Go inside and take care of it while I finish up with the car."

Stiles wanted to do as Derek said. Really, he did. It's just…his legs felt like lead and his feet like water-logged boats. When he moved, he stumbled, bad, forcing the werewolf to shoot forward to catch him before he fell.

And that was a thing that did not need to happen. Especially not when Stiles had such a massive boner in need of some servicing.

Stiles licked his lips and shook his head. Did his best not to look at Derek as his fingers trailed over his arms, up the side of his neck.

Jesus, but he felt good beneath Stiles's hands. All sweat slick and sun-warmed.

Stiles wanted. He wanted a lot. He wanted bad. So bad. So very, very bad.

"You are a menace," Derek said, breath all but punching out of his mouth. "I have no idea why I put up with you coming here all the time. Distracting me the way you do."

He distracted Derek? In what universe was that a thing?

Hand resting at the nape of Derek's neck, Stiles leaned in, giving the man plenty of time to back away if he chose. "I'm going to kiss you," he said, voice low, need roughened. "If you don't want me to, you should probably tell me now."

Instead of telling him to back off, Derek closed the distance between them and, with a deep, frustrated growl, covered Stiles's mouth with his own.

The kiss was nothing and everything Stiles thought it would be.

Warm, wet, wild.

But also slow. Also tender. Also devastating.

Derek shifted his center of gravity and re-adjusted his alignment. His thoughts.

His being.

"Don't stop," he whispered, tightening his arms around the werewolf's neck when he moved to pull away. "Please, for the love of God, don't stop kissing me." Like ever, Stiles added silently.

Ever would be good. Ever would be fan-fucking-tastic, in fact.

"We have to stop," Derek said, smiling into another kiss. "I need to finish the car and then go inside to shower. I'm filthy."

Stiles let Derek push him away some then grinned. "Yeah, you are. You're a fucking mess, Hale. A gorgeous, manly, oiled up mess that I want to climb like a fucking tree and absolutely devour right the fuck now."

Hazel eyes widened before he stepped back, shaking his head hard and fast. Almost too fast. Too hard. "No. No, no, no. I have to finish the car. I am not letting you distract me from that. I'm not. I refuse. I absolutely refuse."

"Absolutely refuse? You? Derek, you can't refuse me. You never refuse me."

Derek narrowed his eyes, holding out a hand. "I am refusing you now. In this. I need to finish my car, Stiles. I have things to do in the morning. Commitments to keep."

"What? To Scott? Dude, he can get someone else to give him a ride to school. It's not that hard for him to find someone else. Plenty of people offer to take him all the time." And they did, too. Ever since his motorcycle bit the dust, people had gone out of their way to offer Scott transportation. "He only wants you to do it because he thinks he looks so fucking cool climbing out of your car."

Derek's hand fell. "What? You've got to be kidding me. He is not using me for my car."

"Uh, he kind of is, dude. Just ask him. He'll tell you himself. He's in love with your car, man. He'd write fucking odes to it, if he could."

Derek looked so crestfallen at the thought of Scott only wanting him for his car that Stiles almost felt bad for telling him about it.

Which just went to show that Stiles was in way, way over his head with Derek.

Shit. Swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, Stiles lifted a hand and rubbed at the back of his neck, taking a few careful steps back away from Derek.

He swayed slightly when his ankles hit the back of the front porch behind him, but he caught himself quick enough not to entirely lose his balance and fall.

Thank God.

The last thing he needed was to make another fool of himself in front of Derek.

Once was fucking enough as far as Stiles was concerned.

"I should, uh, probably go, dude. Let you finish the car and catch a shower. Like you said." He absolutely did not picture Derek in the shower, either. He didn't. At all. "My dad's probably wondering where I am anyway. I've been gone pretty much all day today."

Stiles turned to grab his things off the porch steps, eternally grateful that his erection had gone down at the thought of his dad, and froze as a warm, steady hand gently pressed against his spine. Moist, hot breath brushed across his outer ear, eliciting a shiver from Stiles.

"Stay. Stay with me." The hand at his vertebrae moved to wrap around his waist and a strong forearm forced him back against a firm, sweaty chest. "Please, Stiles. Don't leave. I don't want you to go."

Stiles blew out a hard breath. "Derek, I don't think I should—"

"Then stop thinking," he said, warm lips moving across Stiles's ear, briefly closing over the lower lobe. "I know you want me, Stiles, and now you know that I want you, too. There's no reason to doubt things anymore. Not when we both want the same thing here."

Did they though? Want the same thing? "I don't want just sex with you," Stiles admitted, forcing the words out despite the panic rising in the back of his throat at the mere thought of Derek rejecting him for them. "It's not about that. Or, it's not only about that, I guess."

"You guess?"

"No." Stiles shook his head. "Not guess. Forget guess. I know. I know it's not only about sex. Not for me, at least."

Stiles felt the answering smile against his cheek and relished in the stubble that gently moving across the base of his neck. "It's not about the sex for me, either, Stiles. It never has been."

Oh. Oh. Well, that was…mind-blowing.

"So, what do we do here, Sourwolf? What do you want to happen between us?"

Derek stepped back and moved his hands to Stiles's biceps, quickly twisting him around until he was forced to look the alpha in the eyes again. Losing his breath at the honest sincerity he could see staring back at him.

"I want it all, Stiles. I want everything to happen between us. All the good, and even the bad, too, if it means I get to share part of my life with you. I know you're too young to promise forever now, but I don't think of this, of us, as being short-term. I view us as long-term, or capable of being long-term anyway."

Derek lifted his hands, one hand wrapping around Stiles's waist, the other around the back of his neck, pulling him in again. "I don't want to freak you out here, not any more than you're already freaking out about this, that is, but… I'm in love with you, Stiles. I have been for a very long time now. A lot longer than I realized until you forced me to start thinking about it, about you, and us."

"In love," Stiles whispered. "You're in love. With me. Skinny, defenseless me."

Derek grinned. "You're not so defenseless. I've seen you hit an alpha werewolf with a baseball bat, and another one with a Molotov cocktail. That's not to mention knocking out a kanima with your jeep or spending weeks fighting a thousand-year-old evil fox messing around in your head."

"Not many people could claim to have done the things that you've done, Stiles, and lived long enough to tell someone. You're not defenseless. You're strong and brave and you surprise me every single day with your big brain and clever wit."

Jesus-effing-Christ. "You're serious. You're actually in love with me."

"Yes, Stiles, I'm actually in love with you." Derek furrowed his brow, a hesitant frown marring his ridiculous features. "Do you…not feel the same way about me? It's okay if you don't," he rushed to add. "I can wait for you to—"

Stiles stopped Derek's litany with a hand on his mouth. "Shut up, Sourwolf. You got to let me get a word in edgewise here."

Derek's eyes narrowed and his hand moved as if to take Stiles's hand away from his face, but Stiles was faster, knocking Derek's arm down with his elbow. "No," he admonished. "It's my turn to talk now and you get to listen."

Derek stilled. Didn't even blink as he watched Stiles watch him. Too many emotions flashing inside his eyes, and all of them moving too fast for Stiles to catalog.

Stiles blew out another breath and nodded his head, dropping his hand from Derek's mouth. "Okay. Yeah, okay. I can do this. I can…crap, I'm going to suck at this, Derek. I'm going to suck at this so hard. You know me. I'm impulsive and reckless and I say things I don't mean or things I do mean at the worst possible times."

"I'm spastic, and opinionated, and rude. God, Derek, I'm so rude, and I'm like annoying ninety-nine point nine percent of the time. I'll drive you crazy with my antics. We know this. We do. But…shit, dude, I'm crazy about you. I didn't plan to be crazy about you. Fought against it pretty hard at first, to be honest with you."

Stiles ran a hand through his hair and grimaced. "Fuck, I'm screwing this up. I know it. I just… I want this, Derek. I do. I want you. So much. And I just…I need you to know that I— That you're not— Fuck it," he bit out finally. "I love you, too, Derek, all right? Jesus. I'm crazy-ass, big as all get out, in love with you, dude, and the idea that you love me, too, just…blows my fucking mind, big guy. Because things like this don't happen to me. They just don't. Like…seriously, man. They don't ever happen to me."

"Well, it is," Derek said, interrupting him, reaching for him. "It is happening, Stiles. Because I love you. I'm crazy-ass, big as all get out, in love with you and the idea that you love me back just…boggles my mind."

Stiles grinned. He couldn't help it. It was just…so damn cheesy and sweet. So, so sweet. "We're gonna be so bad at this, man."

"Maybe not. Maybe we'll be good at it. We've done okay so far, right?"

Yeah. Yeah, they had. "Finish your oil change and meet me inside, okay? I'll just be… in your shower, probably jacking off before I clean up."

Derek narrowed his eyes. "You're a horrible person, you know that?"

"I've been told that a time or two, yeah." Stiles leaned in, pressed a quick, dirty kiss to Derek's mouth, and ordered, "Hurry up and get your car done, Sourwolf. I might need you to help me clean the hard parts."

Stiles backed away, not even bothering to hold back his laughter as Derek swatted at him with a hand. "You're gonna regret playing that game with me, Stiles."

No, he wouldn't.

His only regret was not taking the chance to do it sooner.

"Bring it on, big guy. Bring it on."

And maybe, afterward, Stiles would finally tell Derek about the oil on his cheek.

Then again, he thought, lips spreading into a wicked grin as he watched Derek narrow his eyes at him, maybe not.