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Keeping Us a Secret

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Stiles is a lists kind of guy. He likes lists, he respects lists, he writes lists of lists he needs to make. Stiles is a lists-man, the List Guy, List Master, List-wan Kenobi, Listyagi—

You get the idea.

He likes lists, and that's why he made a superbly helpful list of 'Reasons Derek Hale Might Want to Tap This' as well as a completely self-esteem shattering 'Proof That I'm Continually Losing My Mind Due to Too Much Supernatural Bullshit (In Bulleted Form)' to show to his friends. Because, after examining and reevaluating each list over, and over, and over, Stiles has come to the decision to ask his friends ifn he really is losing it, or if Derek might actually...

Like him.

Ooh, chills.

Say it again.

Like him.

“Uh, dude?”

Stiles is brought out of his hazy, dopey-grinned daydream by Scott, staring at him from the threshold of his bedroom door.

“You asked me to come over?” Scott reminds slowly.

“Oh, yeah totally, so.” Stiles spins in the chair, lists in hand. “I have a theory.”

Scott sits on the edge of Stiles' bed and nods. “Shoot.”

“So, theoretically, there's this guy I like.” Stiles pauses and allows it to sink in. Scott just nods for him to continue when the pause becomes too long. “And, I think, heavy emphasis on the think, he might like me back.”

Scott nods, a wise look on his face that might just mean he's hungry. “Okay. So, what're you gonna do about it.”

“Well, I was thinking—?”

The lists go flying when a large, furry ball of man pain and red eyes busts in through the open window into the middle of Stiles' bedroom floor.

“Jesus Fucking Christ what the actual fuck oh my god what?!” Stiles' voice is an endless stream of confusion as he clambers on the chair in fear, as Scott bares his teeth in defense.

As the ball unfurls, though, it becomes clear that it's just Derek, man pain and all. Stiles breathes deep and tries to relax. Until he sees the lists floating to the floor and makes a mad grab for them that just has him tripping over Derek and cracking his head against his bedside table. Everything goes black and Stiles thinks it couldn't get much worse.



“So, you're good with guys, right?”

“Is this a sex thing?”

“No, what? No?”

“Oh. Is this a Derek thing?”

Stiles pulls back to stare at his phone, wondering just when Lydia got so... Lydia. “Yeah?”


“So, I have a theory.”

“Okay.” She sounds bored, and if Stiles listened carefully he could hear the scraping of a file on nails. She was giving herself a manicure while talking to Stiles.

“And that theory is that I have a fucking alpha werewolf in my bedroom who looks super pissed so I'll call you later okay? Thanks.”

Lydia hmphs to her phone and tossed it aside. She relishes the polished look of her nails, and reaches for the bottle of polish while softly muttering, “men, honestly.”


“Danny, you gotta help me.”

“Stilinski what the hell, we're in the middle of practice.” Danny stands dutifully in the goal, ready at a moment's notice and only partially distracted by Stiles.

“Dude, c'mon, you're dating a werewolf and Lydia. If you can't help me then I'm doomed. Boned. Screwed. Fucked. Dead.”

Danny makes a disgusted face beneath his helmet. “Fine, whatever. What is it?”

“I think—Jesus is that Derek in the bleachers?” Stiles aborts his quest for help and stares, squints at the bleachers and sure enough.. in a black leather jacket and dirty pants and scowling, is Derek, amidst the other stray teens watching the pitiful practice. “Well shit.”

Stiles can see Derek's grin which totally means Derek heard him and is plotting revenge. Which means Derek will hear anything else he says. Which means his conversation with Danny is over before it could begin. Fuck.


“Jackson. You're dating a guy and you're a werewolf.” 

“Stilinski,” Jackson rounds on him, pointing a finger in his face, “just tell Derek you want to bone him already, alright?”

“But, dude!” 

“No. No buts, no whining, just man up, Stilinski.”

Jackson stalks away, right into Danny's and Lydia's arms and right into his stupid fancy car. Stiles tenses when he hears a burst of soft laughter behind him.

“Hey Derek.”


“How's it hangin'?” Stiles asks, turning slowly to face the object of his affections. (Really, Stiles? Really? Stop, stop now. Abort, quit, game over, run scream do something other than stare at Derek's stupidly perfect face.)

“A little to the left, actually.” Derek grins at him, menacing but not dangerous.

“Was that a joke oh my god that was a joke, about your dick oh my fuck.”

Derek takes a step closer. “Throw me a bone Stiles,” Derek starts, breath hot and fast against Stiles' cheek, “do you like me?”

Stiles gulps. “Yes. Yes? Yeah, mhmm. Yep.”

Derek quirks an amused brow. “Good.” He raises a hand, and cups the back of Stiles' neck, like he's seen Derek do to the betas, a sign of twisted affection.

“Wait so that we're clear, you like me too, right? This isn't a prank? This is real? Is this real life or is this just fantasy?”

Derek pinches his neck.

“Okay, so, you like me.” Stiles nods, allowing himself to be lead to his Jeep, allowing Derek to open the passenger door for him, allowing Derek to get into the driver's side. “So... uh.. how long have you.. y'know.”

Derek returns to his far less amusing, sourwolf self. “A while.”

Stiles nods. “Right, cool. I can work with that.” He looks out the window before his mouth gets the better of him. “So, what stopped you?”

Derek's jaw stiffens. “I thought there was someone else.”

Stiles doesn't nod in awkward recognition this time, though. “Someone else?”

“I couldn't be sure.”

“What? You couldn't be sure?” Stiles faces Derek, even though Derek is intensely focused on the road. “So, what? You decided to just become the captain of the Inability to Use Your Words failboat and not do jack shit?”

Derek snarls in Stiles' general direction, pulling into the Stilinski driveway with a little more force than necessary.

“Okay so you did. No big deal, cuz we're here now, right?” Stiles can't shake off the hopeful, scared edge to his tone.

Derek doesn't look at him when he says, “right,” strong and firm and alpha. Stiles smiles, and unbuckles to lean across the center console. He grabs Derek by the grin, between two fingers, and tugs him face to face.

“Good.” Stiles says, serious and breathless. Derek smiles, it's small and barely there, but it's a smile far too seldom seen. Stiles kisses it and feels it spread across Derek's face, infectious and pleasant. At some point, it stops being a kiss and more of them smiling against each other's mouths. But that works too, that works just fine.

(Mentally, Stiles adds it both to the 'Reasons Derek Hale Might Want to Tap This' list, as well as the 'Things That Make My Life That Much Better' list.