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When Stiles walked into Derek’s living room carrying a steaming bag of Chinese food, the last thing he expected was to see Derek and Erica waltzing around the room to a Ke$ha song.
“Dude,” he said. Erica giggled and twirled out of Derek’s arms and into the kitchen. “What the—you can dance?” He blinked at Derek a few times and then added, “Wait, so all this time I’ve been taking dancing lessons, and you could’ve—“
Derek smirked and threw himself down on the sofa. “You never asked.”
“Okay, yes, but we could’ve—you could teach me!” Stiles said. He put the food down on the coffee table and sat on top of Derek. “We could foxtrot all night. Salsa. Horizontal tango. Catch my drift?”
“Jesus, Stiles,” Erica yelled from the kitchen. “There are children present.”
“Fuck off,” Stiles yelled back. He squirmed around a bit until he was more comfortable on Derek’s lap. Derek did not look amused, especially when Stiles batted his eyelashes and grinned, saying, “So, where’d you learn to dance?”
Derek shoved him onto the floor and stood up. “I’m hungry,” he said. He nudged Stiles aside with his foot and picked up the bag.
“Hey, wait,” Stiles said, clambering up and following him into the kitchen. Erica, who was sitting on the counter eating ice cream, took one look at Derek and ran up the stairs to her room. “Hold on a minute,” Stiles said, grabbing Derek’s elbow. “Wanna tell me what’s going on?”
Derek began shoveling Singapore noodles into a bowl. He completely ignored Stiles.
“Did you get any eggrolls?” he said.
“Yeah, of course, so what’s going on?” After two years together, he was well aware that Derek had way more facial expressions than most people gave him credit for. Even Derek’s blank face had about a hundred variations. The one Derek was currently sporting was his “I don’t want to talk about it so I’m going to stuff rice noodles into my mouth” face, which usually meant that whatever his problem was, it was related to his family.
“Where’s the dipping sauce?” Derek said around a mouthful of noodles. A piece of pork fell out onto the kitchen counter.
“Oh my God, you’re disgusting,” Stiles said. He fumbled around in the bag and pulled out a cup of sweet and sour sauce. “So did your parents teach you?”
Derek’s mouth squeezed into a line. “No,” he said.
“Okay, Peter?” When Derek went for the noodle box again, Stiles snatched it up and raised one eyebrow. “Okay, seriously, what’s going on? If you think I’m just going to let this go, you are extremely wrong. It’s like you don’t know me at all.”
Derek made grabby hands at the noodles, which was pretty hilarious since he was a freaking werewolf. “Give,” he said.
“Did Laura teach you?” Stiles said. Derek’s arms dropped and he took a step back. His face shut down. “Okay,” Stiles said. He grabbed Derek’s hand and put the noodle box in it. “You wanna tell me?”
“Not really,” Derek said. He picked up his fork and started stuffing food into his face again. He shouldered Stiles out of his way and went back to the living room, where he flicked the TV on and cranked up the volume more than even Stiles, who was completely human, could stand. It must have been painfully loud for Derek, which meant he really didn’t want to talk.
“What, are you going to watch Survivor angrily at me until I lose interest?” Stiles yelled over the theme song. “Because, seriously, good luck. I am very persistent. It’s one of my best qualities.”
Derek just turned the TV up more.
“Jesus Christ,” Erica yelled down the stairs, “if you’re going to have the sound so loud, at least play something good. I vote Star Wars.”
Derek’s mouth pinched in again and he turned his head to look at Stiles for a second. Stiles grinned and practically skipped over to the TV to dig around in the DVD cabinet.
A few minutes later, he curled up against Derek’s side and hid his grin in Derek’s shoulder when the opening credits started. “This movie was such a good investment,” he said as he turned the volume down. “Or, actually, I could just crank it up again, and then nobody could hear if we get up to a little—“
“I can still hear you,” Erica yelled. It was truly impressive how loudly she could scream when she wanted to.
Derek sighed, and he melted back into the couch. “We should get our own place,” he said.
Stiles snorted. Derek looked almost offended, so he said, “I mean, yes, I am all for that, except for the fact that I won’t actually be living with you for at least another two years. I still have that pesky college thing. But it’s cute that you’re already thinking about that.”
He was going to say more, but just then, Isaac barreled through the front door, grinning. “Hey!” he said. He stopped when he saw the prologue scrolling across the TV. “Seriously? You guys are watching this again? Could you be more of a romantic comedy?”
“What does Star Wars have to do with romantic comedies?” Stiles said.
Isaac raised one eyebrow, which was kind of hilarious because he still hadn’t entirely learned the way of the sassy eyebrows. “Watching your first date movie regularly, even after you’ve been together forever?”
“Okay, one, that was not a date,” Stiles said. Derek opened his mouth to protest, but Stiles slapped his chest. “It only counts as a date if both parties are aware that it’s a date. Therefore, not a date.” Derek pouted, which was just shy of adorable. “Second, we have not been together forever. Just, like, two years.”
“Two years and a few months for me,” Derek said.
“No, shut up, that was not a date,” Stiles said, drumming his heel against Derek’s shin. “You have not been in this relationship longer than I have, it just doesn’t work that way.”
Isaac blinked a few times. “All right then,” he said. “I’m just gonna—go.” He edged out of the room, which was probably smart since the entire pack knew that once Stiles and Derek got started on the whole first date argument, it could last for hours.
For once, Stiles decided to just let it go. Derek was still tense from earlier, and no good would come of teasing him. He grabbed the box of sweet and sour chicken. “So,” he said. “If you had to choose, would you rather be Han Solo or Luke Skywalker?”
Derek quirked up one eyebrow at him. “Han Solo.”
Stiles nodded. “That sounds about right.”
They fell into a mostly comfortable silence while Derek ate the rest of the Singapore noodles, which was pretty impressive. Stiles picked at his chicken and slumped against Derek. Eventually, Derek threw the empty box backwards over his shoulder, and because he was perfect, it flew into the kitchen garbage can, ten feet away.
“Do you think Leia is hot?” Stiles asked.
He could practically hear Derek’s smirk. “Are you asking me if I think you should wear a gold bikini? Because the answer is always going to be no.”
“Okay, that was one time, and—you know what, never mind, you’re stupid, just shut up,” Stiles said. He wasn’t very good at being fake mad, so he pressed his smile against Derek’s solid shoulder and closed his eyes.
Derek took a deep breath. “When I was fourteen, Laura went on this Dirty Dancing kick. She decided she wanted to be a professional dancer.”
Stiles sat up and frowned slightly. “So she made you learn how to dance.” Derek nodded stiffly. “You’re good at it,” Stiles said. “And don’t worry, I won’t make you dance at the wedding.”
Derek didn’t say anything, just raised his arm up to rest across Stiles’ shoulders.
“I still can’t believe Lydia made everybody take dancing lessons,” Stiles said, burrowing even further into Derek’s side. “Well, I can believe it, but it’s still crazy. What, will subpar dancing bring dishonor and bad luck to her stupid wedding?”
Tapping his fingers on Stiles’ arm, Derek sighed. “You’re just mad that Allison is maid of honor.”
“We all know I’m better friends with Lydia,” Stiles muttered. “Stupid gender stereotypes. It should be me.”
Derek sighed again and relaxed back into the sofa. His stomach gurgled and Stiles bit back a laugh. They watched the rest of the movie without talking, just sitting and (though Derek would never admit to it, because he was allergic to cute things) cuddling.
When the end credits came on, Stiles started tracing patterns on Derek’s thigh with his pointer finger. It was a little known fact that Derek was ticklish and just too stubborn to ever show it, and he got endless amusement from Derek’s stoic “I will not giggle like a schoolgirl” face.
“Hey, Derek?” he said, letting his hand go still.
“Yeah,” Derek said, his hand curling around Stiles’ bicep.
He chewed on his lip and spelled out “wolf” on Derek’s leg. “It’s just. I love you.”
He could feel Derek smile into the top of his hair. “I know,” Derek said.