Derek I Stiles I Peter
[Thurs 6:20pm – Outgoing Call]
"I thought you were on your way."
"Dude, didn't they tell you that being on the phone and driving is a bad combination?"
"Yes, but you know I don't follow the rules."
"Any particular reason why you called?"
"Well, yes, actually."
"And that is?"
"To tell you that I'm on my way."
"…I'm so done with you."
"Haha, no. I just wanted to ask you, again, if you're sure that you don't want me to bring anything."
"Uhhh, let's see. Nope. I got everything."
"Yes, I'm sure."
"So, if I were you, I'd hurry up and get over here. No one likes to eat their food cold, right?"
"All right, all right. Be there soon."
"Good. See you soon."
[Thurs 6:29pm – Call Disconnected]
So maybe Derek fiddles around his jacket's zipper the moment he stands in front of Stiles' door. Stiles had sent him a text with his apartment number and a "Hurry the hell up, man. I'm hungry."
And, well, Derek is too.
He takes a moment to check if he still has the three V.I.P tickets stashed inside his jacket before knocking on the door.
"You know, I'm still expecting the cameras to pop out of nowhere and tell me that I've been Punk'd," is the greeting he gets when Stiles opens the door.
Derek has to roll his eyes at that. "Really, Stiles?"
"Really, Derek," Stiles shrugs and gestures him to come inside. He hurries in a direction Derek will have to guess is the kitchen, saying over his shoulder, "Got here just in time, prepping the food right now."
The first thing Derek notices the moment he steps inside, is that the place smells delicious.
He may or may not have made a pitiful sound at the back of his throat when he walks up to the kitchen and sees the pasta boxes piled up on one another and the jars of Alfredo sauce next to them.
Stiles gives him a look, one that's fond and amused at the same time. "I heard that."
"Heard what?" Derek tries to play it cool, but the smile growing wider on Stiles' face tells him that he failed on that.
"You know what I mean."
"I don't know what you mean."
Stiles stares at him, tapping a finger on his chin, and then shakes his head. "You're hopeless. Sit down, shut up, and let me do my thing."
Surprisingly, Derek does as he's told. Because he's here, with Stiles, in his kitchen, watching him cook his favorite dish.
And when Stiles turns around and graces him with a smile, a small glow of warmth begins to course through Derek.
After another fifteen minutes, the food is done. They eat, and Derek may just have to drop on his knees and worship Stiles' culinary skills. Because this? This probably must be what heaven tastes like.
He tells Stiles as much, only to receive a smug grin in return.
It isn't until after they're done washing the dishes that Stiles offers him a beer.
"I, uh, don't drink," and at Stiles' questioning eyebrow, Derek simply shrugs.
Stiles lazily thumps him. "Come on, Derek, one little beer isn't going to kill you."
"Hmm, I don't know, Stiles. Maybe it will."
Stiles thumps him again. "Stop being so dramatic."
"I'm not being dramatic," Derek scowls, only to receive a "yeah right," from Stiles.
Stiles gives him a look before going over to the fridge and taking out a single bottle. "Listen, how about this, we share one. Sound good?"
"Share one, huh?" Derek stares at the bottle in Stiles' hand then at Stiles and back to the bottle again.
Derek then licks his lips, not missing the way Stiles' eyes track the motion. It's not that he has anything against beer, it's just that he doesn't like the acerbic aftertaste. "All right. Just one, though."
Maybe one bottle turned to three and then three turned to five. Somewhere in-between the third and fourth beer they found their way to the couch, with Derek laying his head on Stiles' lap as Stiles searches through his Netflix queue to find something to watch. And much to Derek's surprise, he's not drunk yet—a little buzzed, yeah, but not completely.
"Found anything yet?" and yeah, he definitely has a slight slur.
Stiles hums and shakes his head. "Nah, nothing yet."
He keeps his eyes trained on the screen as Stiles keeps switching through the titles. But somewhere between The Avengers and Kate & Leopold, Derek dozes off.
He comes back around when he feels something running through his hair. Derek cracks an eye open and all he can see is Stiles grinning down at him, looking abashed.
"Hi," is all Derek can rasp out. "Having fun there?"
"Why yes, actually," Stiles rolls his eyes, his grin widening a little bit.
Derek can't help but grin back.
The weird thing is, is that this feels right, to be here with Stiles. And, yeah, he can't help it if his grin grows a bit wider at that thought.
"So, um, your phone went off like crazy earlier," Stiles says as Derek sits up.
Derek frowns and checks his phone. They're all from Peter.
Don't forget Derek, there's rehearsal tomorrow. Be there early.
Well, shit. How could he forget about that?
He sighs and rubs his eyes with the heel of his palms as he stands up. "I should probably get going."
"Long day ahead of you, huh?"
He doesn't even want to think about the next two days, so he sighs and nods, "Yeah."
Stiles snickers at him, and Derek shoves at his shoulder gently before making his way towards the front door.
Right as he steps outside, Derek stops and turns around. Stiles arches a brow at him, and Derek simply takes off his jacket and drapes it over Stiles' shoulders gently.
And just as Stiles opens his mouth to say something, Derek cuts him off quickly with a, "One, don't say anything. And two, you did always want one, right?"
At Stiles' nod, Derek continues, "Good. Now, see you at the concert in two days."
"B-but, dude! You haven't even given me my ticket!" Stiles splutters, and Derek has to chuckle at that.
And, as if it's the most natural thing in the world, Derek tugs Stiles closer and plants a kiss on his forehead, whispering, "Yeah I have," before making his way towards his car.