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Derek has a deep running hatred Laura’s art of persuasion; for the way she can sweet talk him into basically anything, and Derek doesn’t even notice until it’s too late and he’s already agreed to do whatever it is she wants him to. You might think he developed a kind of resistance or vigilance over time but Laura’s sneaky and artful, she has a way with words that drives Derek right into the trap. He consoles himself with the fact that she can talk anyone into anything, so at least he’s not the only poor idiot who keeps falling for it.
It’s how he ends up manning a booth on the Christmas market, together with Laura who’s disgustingly cheerful all the time--Derek wants to wring her neck. They’re crammed in a small booth selling mulled wine, and Derek thinks the only reason they’re doing good business is because Laura is willing to flirt shamelessly with everyone. He just keeps in the back, filling up cups and handing them out while Laura manages the money.
As of now, he’s furiously scowling at Laura because she just told the last customer that Derek’s “resting face is always that of a serial killer preying on unsuspecting victims, and, sadly, even the Christmas spirit can’t break it”. It’s something she never tires of saying, and over the past couple of years, his entire family took it on, too. Even Mom makes slips every now and then. Ever since, Derek’s been trying to establish a new, horrendous nickname for Laura. With humble success. None, that is, essentially.
“Oh, come on, Derek, don’t pout,” Laura coos at him, voice full of mirth. “Maybe we should pluck your eyebrows, see how it affects your serial killer glare.”
“Maybe I should just lock you in a windowless dungeon, never to be seen or heard again,” Derek counters. As far as threats go, this one’s completely lost on his stupid sister. She throws her head back, laughing like a raging lunatic.
“You know, you just keep scoring own-goals,” Laura wheezes. “It doesn’t help your case, Resting Face.”
That’s a thing, too. Derek’s serial killer name. He really doesn’t know what he did to deserve this. Really, Derek’s even tried to explain that this name doesn’t even make sense. How can he be a serial killer if someone knows what he looks like. Plus, everyone keeps talking about how the Christmas spirit doesn’t help his face, but they all wouldn’t let it go in the name of Christmas either. His relatives are all a bunch of filthy hypocrits.
The bottom line being that this year, just as every other year since puberty, his mental gift list contains only one bullet point: new family.
And as far as wishes go, this one has never been fulfilled.
Bummer.
“Gotta live up to the reputation.”
Laura sprawls out over the counter, shoulders shaking with soundless laughter. Derek can hear her gasp for air. Derek turns and pours himself some mulled wine. The only way he’s gonna survive this is drunk off his ass.
“What’s so funny?” an unfamiliar voice asks. Derek’s with his back to the counter, meticulously filling his cup to the brim. Going by the shuffling, Laura’s picking herself up.
“Inside joke,” Laura tells the stranger. “My brother is such a comedian, you have no idea.”
The tone in her voice implies warm camaraderie, like she only uses on people she knows. So, Derek deduces, must be not a stranger then. Maybe one of her TA friends.
“What’s he doing hidden in the shadows of a tiny booth then?” Laura’s friend asks. “Up on the stage with him. I need something to laugh about. Some distraction from the amount of exercises your boss dumped on me.”
Laura laughs, delighted, the witch. She lives off other people’s pain. How she has friends is beyond Derek.
He turns around to the counter and almost drops his cup when he spots the guy Laura’s talking to. Derek does, however, splash hot mulled wine over his hand. Way to make a first impression. Somebody in the universe hates him with a burning passion.
The guy is tall and slim with broad shoulders and bright, amused eyes. His hair looks like he’s been running his hands through it, his cheeks red from the cold. There’s a constellation of moles dotted across his otherwise pale skin, and Derek wants to memorize the shape and spot of each and every one. And his mouth--Derek’s pretty sure he’s never seen a mouth like that before: lips plush and soft-looking, with a sensuous bow to them that makes Derek feel way too warm underneath his clothes.
It’s enough to make Derek forget about the spilled wine for a moment.
“You spilled mulled wine all over yourself, champ,” Laura mocks, and Derek catches the guy grin, easily, no malice in his expression. He quickly turns his attention to his cup, puts it down and grabs for paper towels. “You’re such an idiot.”
“Excuse me, I put brains on my gift list. Still waiting for Santa to bring it,” Derek says grumpily wiping his hand and sleeve to Laura’s manic cackle.
She leans towards her friend. “Isn’t he just adorable?” she asks him. “We haven’t had the heart yet to tell him that Santa isn’t real.”
When Derek looks up, the guy looks like someone turned his world upside down. He’s staring at Laura with wide eyes.
“Wait, what do you mean Santa isn’t real?”
Laura sighs, reaches over to pat his cheek, and Derek hates her a little bit that she gets to do that. “Nevermind, Stiles. Maybe you and Derek should have a get together, exchange wish lists and discuss your favourite toys.”
“You’re just jealous,” the guy--Stiles--scoffs. “I bet you’re only getting boring adult gifts like...potpourri bowls.”
Derek can’t keep in his laughter. Stiles probably has no idea how close he hit to home, given that Laura is indeed a huge fan of potpourri. She just glowers at both at them.
“Thank you, Stiles, now I know what to get her for Christmas.”
“Pssssssh,” Stiles hisses. “Santa!”
“Right,” Derek says dropping his voice. “Santa.”
Laura rolls her eyes, hard. Derek smirks to himself, feels satisfaction surge through him when he catches Stiles grinning widely too. He’s mesmerized by how Stiles’ smile lights up his whole face, an open map of all emotions. It’s contagious. Derek has to look away to avoid staring.
“So,” Laura says before the pause can get too awkward. “You chilling with friends?”
Stiles rubs his fingers over a brow. “No, actually. I’m on my way to the library, thought I might stop by to get some mulled wine.”
Laura motions at Derek without looking, indicating to get a drink. Derek grabs a cup, fills it up before sliding it over to Stiles who takes it with a blinding smile.
“That’d be three fifty,” Laura says before Derek can offer for it to be on the house. He grinds his teeth silently as Laura collects the money from Stiles. “How are the exercises coming along?”
Stiles makes a frustrated noise at the back of his throat. “It’s like this woman thinks hers is the only class I have,” he complains as he wraps long, deft fingers around his cup. “Meriweather my ass. If she was weather, she’d be everything but merry. More like an angry blizzard.”
“I always thought she’d be more of a gross, icy fall shower,” Laura muses, leaning her elbows on the counter. “You know, raining on my parade.”
Stiles barks out a laugh, surprised. “Works too, yeah,” he agrees. They keep talking, about classes and professors, about how Laura’s master’s thesis comes along, and Stiles whines about maintaining his flawless GPA. Derek can’t do much but watch and listen because it’s not his topic and he can’t contribute at all. Which sucks. He really wants to say something, talk to Stiles, get his attention.
He’s trying to find any other opener than How you doin’?, but, unfortunately, it’s the only thing that came to mind and now it’s stuck in his head. Derek curses his existence and the universe.
Before he can put an end to his own internal struggle, Laura and Stiles wrap up their conversation, and Stiles laughs again, careless and joyous, and Derek curses his sister too, for good measure. He wants to elicit sounds like these from Stiles himself.
“See you in class,” Stiles says, salutes, and Laura laughs, dismissing him with a motion of his hand.
“Be prepared.”
Stiles groans but shakes his head grinning. He waves shortly at Derek before he leaves, and it’s about all that Derek gets.
He picks up his own, half empty cup and nips passive-aggressively at the rim, glaring daggers at Laura. She turns to him, raises her eyebrows.
“What?”
“If your professor is an icy fall shower, then you are the ice age of my life.”
*
Laura has left to go pee--about an hour ago, the snake. Derek is used to skulking in the back, so he’s not amused about having to deal with a bunch of people. Most of the customers seem a little disappointed when they realize that Laura isn’t there; a lot of them are people who Derek recognizes from their prior visits to the booth. He has a good face memory, he can’t help it. They don’t try to make conversation with him, though, so it’s fine, and Derek can get things done swiftly. About ten minutes in he realizes he gets tipped more when he smiles, so he plasters an effortless, empty smile on his face.
Most of the customers smile back easily, thank him and move on. During Laura’s absence a queue at the booth has formed, and it doesn’t dissolve as quickly as when Derek works with Laura. The people are cool about it though, nobody complains and nobody mobs. It’s a win.
That’s probably the Christmas spirit Derek’s face is lacking.
By the time the queue is gone, Derek is thoroughly pissed that Laura still isn’t back. He helps himself to a cup of wine when a familiar voice calls out, “Yo.”
Derek looks up to find himself faced with Stiles. Stiles who grins sheepishly at him, cheeks reddened and lips chapped from the cold air. Derek’s actually glad he isn’t holding his cup right now, otherwise he might have spilled it all over himself again.
“Hey,” Derek answers, watches Stiles rub his hands together.
“You alone today?” Stiles asks as he peeks into the booth, obviously checking for Laura. Derek refuses to acknowledge the pang of envy.
“Laura apparently got sidetracked whilst peeing, I don’t know,” Derek replies dryly. Stiles sends him an amused grin leaning back.
“Well, you seem to be managing well on your own,” Stiles acknowledges. “Can you fix me up with a cup, please?”
Derek fills another cup and slides it over to Stiles, brings his own up, and Stiles smiles nudging his against Derek’s. “Cheers.”
Derek keeps looks at Stiles over the brim of his cup as he drinks, notices how Stiles doesn’t just pay and leave. It doesn’t make things particularly easy, though, because Derek has no idea what to say, and Stiles doesn’t make any moves to start a conversation either. The silence is awkward. Derek hates it; he’s never been one for small talk, he’s bad at starting talking to people.
“So,” Derek says eventually, because he feels awkward and uncomfortable, “how you doin’?”
Stiles chokes on his mulled wine, coughs until his face is blotchy red and gasps for air. His eyes are bright and shiny and he’s clutching his cup to his chest like his life depends on it. Derek prays the ground will swallow him up any second now. It’s his luck of course that nothing like that happens, and he’s left with Stiles who’s staring at him with his mouth open, lips forming a perfect O.
“Sorry, sorry,” Derek rushes to say, feels his face heat up suddenly. “You okay?”
Stiles runs the back of his hand over his mouth. “Yeah, I’m--that was probably the most embarrassing comeback I’ve ever given.”
“That was a coughback, if it was anything back at all,” Derek points out.
“Says Derek Tribbiani.”
“It’s a classic, shut up.”
“I’m just trying to picture what it would be like if you would’ve picked Chandler or Ross but I think you’d be unsuccessful either way.”
“Unsuccessful?” Derek raises his eyebrows at Stiles, and Stiles smirks shamelessly back at him. “What makes you think I would be unsuccessful?”
Stiles, in turn, quirks his eyebrows in a way that speaks volumes.
“Chandler got Monika, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Derek continues.
Stiles’ grin grows wider, yet it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Are you dating your best friend too?”
Derek pulls one edge of his upper lip up in a grossed out manner, shudders at the thought of it. Not because Erica’s hard to imagine being with but because--
“My best friend would hit me over the head if I tried hitting on her and ask me if it’s better now.”
Stiles laughs, and something in Derek’s chest swells, happy at the sound.
“Why, are you dating your best friend?” Derek asks in return, feeling stalkerish but who cares. It’s an innocent enough question.
Stiles snorts. “Yeah, no. That would be like dating my brother. Besides, I’d have to take it up to both of his girlfriends first, and I don’t think I stand a chance against them.”
Derek stares, surprised. “Your best friend has two girlfriends?”
“Yep.”
“Do they know that?”
That elicits another laugh out of him. “They do, actually. It’s a threeway thing, although they hate it when I say that. Polyamory.” Stiles motions with his hand non-committally.
“And that works?” Derek furrows his brows wondering how a relationship like that pans out without anyone getting hurt eventually.
“Apparently. Believe me, I didn’t think it would but it works for them, so it’s cool,” Stiles explains. He shrugs casually before he takes a sip from his wine. Derek nods, lost in thought for a moment, and drinks too.
They stay silent for a while but this time it’s comfortable, companionable even. Stiles nips half-heartedly at his mulled wine, eyes flicking back and forth between Derek and the surroundings.
“How’s school coming along?” Derek asks, remembering Stiles’ conversation with Laura a couple of days ago.
Stiles rolls his eyes and groans theatrically. “You might think Christmas is all about coziness and love and mercy and stuff, and then there’s professors who apparently have never heard of that concept. They think we’ll get lazy, so they dump twice the load of work on us.”
“Yeah, it’s sick,” Derek commiserates and reaches out to pat Stiles on the shoulder. He’s glad he doesn’t have classes anymore, he’s solely focusing on his master’s thesis now. “I’m sure you’ll kick ass, though.”
“Hell yeah,” Stiles says with fervour, like he can’t believe Derek might suggest any differently. “But I’m probably gonna spend all of Christmas and New Year drunk off my ass.”
“Fair enough,” Derek concedes, grins into his cup.
“What do you do?” Stiles asks then, his look sharp and curious then, and he perks up watching Derek intently.
“I’m working on my master’s thesis,” Derek answers and turns to fill up his own cup again.
“What’s it about?”
“Mythology in Shakespeare’s plays,” Derek says, and Stiles makes a delighted sound.
“A Shakespeare kind of guy,” Stiles ponders and the smile he sends Derek’s way almost makes Derek’s knees go weak. “Brings all the boys and girls to the yard, huh?”
“I only care about the one that matters,” Derek answers leaning in.
“And who’s that?”
Stiles looks at him expectantly, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The twinkling lights of the Christmas market illuminate his face, his eyes, and Derek doesn’t know what to say. He’d like Stiles to be the one that matters but he basically doesn’t know anything about him and maybe it’s too much too fast to tell him that now.
“His beautiful, wickedly smart sister of course,” Laura butts in as she floats into view, three shopping bags in her hands. Derek scowls at her as Stiles jerks a little at the sound of her voice, turning to look at her. She grins at both of them, loads the bags onto the counter and slips into the booth.
“You mean my ice age of my life sister.”
“I remember you laughing so hard at Ice Age that Coke came shooting out through your nose.”
It’s Laura’s life purpose to sabotage him at every turn. He casts a quick glance at Stiles, who’s hiding his smile behind his cup before he downs the last of his mulled wine and throws the cup into the trash.
“Well, I better get going, I still have a lot to do,” Stiles says as he adjusts the strap of his bag on his shoulder. He quickly pays, waves, and--it seems--all but flees from the booth.
Laura seems to have noticed it too as she raises her eyebrows watching Stiles retreating back and then turns to look at Derek.
“See, your resting face scared him away.”
The thing is, Derek doesn’t know if Stiles left because he didn’t get an answer, or because Laura interrupted before anything else could happen.
*
Laura ditches him again but this time she tells him a couple of days in advance, and Derek manages to talk Isaac into helping him out. Isaac is as shameless a flirter as Laura is. It seems like the happy-go-lucky attitude comes easily to them, they talk to people with an effortlessness Derek has envied from the start.
“I don’t know why you keep complaining about this job,” Isaac says after the last customer leaves, and stashes the money away. “People are pretty generous with their tips.”
Derek rolls his eyes. “That’s because you flirt with everyone like your life depends on it.”
Isaac grins and waggles his eyebrows when he says, “There’s nothing wrong with that.” He settles with his back to the counter, leans back with his forearms braced on top. “They’d probably trip over themselves and each other if you were less of a lurking shadow.”
“I’m not here to flirt,” Derek answers with a motion of his hand.
Now, Isaac rolls his eyes at him. “Whatever. More for me,” he concedes turning back around to watch people walking by.
It’s when Derek spots Stiles in the crowd, a beautiful redhead hooked under his arm. Derek can feel disappointment bubbling up inside of him. Yeah, asking if Stiles is dating his best friend didn’t answer if he was dating anyone at all, and Derek should’ve known, should’ve expected it. Someone bright and shimmering like Stiles wouldn’t be alone.
His thoughts scatter though, when Stiles and the redhead greet another woman, tall and dark-haired. Stiles kisses her cheek while the redhead lets go of his arm, and the both of the women are kissing. They are Stiles’ best friend’s girlfriends, Derek realizes. Or each other’s girlfriends. Derek doesn’t really know how threeway relationships work. But it doesn’t matter because maybe Stiles isn’t taken; maybe Derek still has a shot. That is if Stiles decides to pay a visit to the booth again.
But the three of them turn away and disappear quickly in the crowd of other people, and Derek sighs.
He excuses himself and slips out of the booth to go to the toilet. When he comes back, he hears Isaac laugh before he even sees the booth, though as soon as he walks back in, he feels like freezing on the spot. Stiles’s face is open and amused.
“So, do you wear these shorts too?” Isaac asks, gesturing around his middle while mulled wine pours into a cup through the spigot of the vat.
Stiles huffs out a laugh. “No, dude, those are for the divers.”
Isaac hums contemplatively as he turns his attention back to the wine, exchanges the full cup for an empty one. “Too bad,” he says then, looks back at Stiles. “But I guess swimwear doesn’t hide much anyway.”
Stiles quirks his eyebrows, laughs openly. “Nothing at all,” he confirms. “Makes good for--”
“Appreciating the view,” Isaac finishes with a wink.
“I was gonna say ogling but that works too,” Stiles agrees with a smirk that borders on coy way too much for Derek’s taste.
He clears his throat softly, and Stiles’ eyes flick towards him in an instant. Isaac just casts a glance over his shoulder and nods, but Derek doesn’t really pay attention to him. There’s a pang of jealousy nagging him. Isaac pulled Stiles into a flirtatious conversation effortlessly while Derek had scrambled to come up with anything he could say to Stiles to begin with. And Stiles engaged in it, apparently, and it sucks, it really does. Of course Stiles has the right to flirt with anyone but he wishes it would be as easy between them too.
“Hi,” he says.
Stiles grins, waves a hand slightly. “Hey.”
Derek breathes out deeply. Isaac’s flirting hasn’t been really serious all night, he mostly does it to have fun, not because he’s actively looking to seduce someone. So Derek probably doesn’t need to be too worried about it.
Isaac turns to look at them. “You two know each other?” he asks surprised.
“Yes,” Derek answers at the same time Stiles says, “Kinda.”
Derek’s face doesn’t shutter, it doesn’t. He knows how to compose himself. Isaac just raises an eyebrow at him before he fills up the last cup, and Stiles purses his lips a little, like he feels uncomfortable all of a sudden.
Isaac puts four cups of mulled wine in front of Stiles while Stiles whips out his wallet.
“These are on the house,” Isaac says, winks with a bright smile, and Stiles’ face lights up. Derek feels like banging his head against concrete.
“Thanks, dude,” Stiles says, arranges the cups so he can pick them up all four at once. “See you,” he adds, looking at Isaac, glances at Derek before he turns and carefully steps away. Derek never got a See You. This sucks. Big time.
“He been here before?” Isaac asks as soon as Stiles is out of hearing range, turning around to face Derek.
“Yeah,” Derek replies after a little pause during which he wondered what would be the most effective way to get rid of Isaac. “He knows Laura.”
“Oh, he’s that Stiles,” Isaac laughs, smacks a hand against his forehead. “Of course.”
“What?” Derek blinks at his friend. Has Laura talked about Stiles? He can’t remember. Maybe he just never listened. Dammit.
“He’s in one of her groups,” Isaac explains. “Apparently one of the brightest students she knows.”
“When did she talk about him?”
Isaac rolls his eyes at him. “On several occasions. You just never listen to what she says.”
That’s true enough and a motivation to start tuning in again when Laura tells something. He scrunches up his nose.
“She never mentioned that he’s hot, though,” Isaac points out, staring at where Stiles dissolved into the crowd before he looks at Derek again. “That mouth.”
Derek manages not to scream dibs in Isaac’s face. It’s a close call, though. “You’re shallow,” he says instead.
Isaac tsks at him. “It’s not my fault you can’t appreciate eyecandy when you get the chance.”
Stiles appears at the counter again, stripped of his coat. There’s mulled wine dripping of his hand, a rivulet running down the length of his forearm to his elbow to where he pushed up the sleeves of his henley.
“Hey, sorry,” he says, a little breathless. “I spilled my wine. Do you have some paper towels maybe?”
Isaac reacts faster, “Sure,” he answers turning around to look through the tiny cabinets for a package of towels.
Derek, on the other hand, watches how Stiles brings up the hand to his face, licks over his fingers to get rid of the wine. He sucks the tip of each digit into his mouth, curls his tongue between the spaces of his fingers, and Derek stares. He can’t tear his eyes away, feels heat rising into his cheeks, his neck. It’s obscene how Stiles keeps working on his hand before he licks up a stripe from his elbow to his wrist.
He snaps out of it when Isaac smacks a package of paper towels on the counter. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” Stiles reaches and tugs a towel out of the bundle, wipes at his hand and arm until the wine is gone and his skin is dry again.
Derek fills up a new cup and hands it over to Stiles when he’s done with the clean up. “Woah, thank you. Let me just get my jacket--”
“It’s fine,” Derek interrupts him. Stiles stares at him in surprise. He shudders, then, from the cold most likely.
Derek furrows his brows. “Do you want my jacket?”
The wine sloshes dangerously in the cup when Stiles startles. “No, it’s--Scott has my coat, it’s fine.” He steadies his hand, brings the cup up to his lips to sip from the wine. “Thanks again.”
He smiles at Isaac, then at Derek. His eyes linger on Derek for a moment before he saunters away.
Derek catches Isaac looking at him with an appraising expression on his face. He doesn’t say anything though, just grabs the towels and puts them back where they belong.
Stiles floats in and out of his periphery for the rest of the evening, always surrounded by both the women Derek’s seen him with earlier, and a guy--the aforementioned Scott, he assumes; the best friend. They seem to enjoy themselves a lot. At some point, Derek sees the dark-haired girl lick cotton candy off Scott’s cheek. Later, Stiles has a gingerbread heart dangling from his neck but Derek can’t make out what’s written on it.
The little group of them turn up at the booth five minutes to ten; five minutes before the market officially closes, and Derek would be annoyed if it was anyone else. But Stiles is red-cheeked with unruly hair and his lashes cast shadows across his face. His entire face is lit up with a smile so bright Derek is sure he needs sunglasses. His eyes are a little glassy, though. He’s been drinking.
“Hi,” he breathes as the brunette girl stumbles into him.
“Nice,” she says appreciatively as she eyes Derek up and down, smile showing off her dimples. Stiles shushes her and she snickers at him flicking his ear. She turns back to the other two, and Derek catches Isaac looking at the couple--triple--whatever--with interest.
“Hey,” Derek replies softly, smiling himself. “Nice heart.”
Stiles beams at him and holds up the gingerbread heart. It reads, Dreamboat. He drops it, pats it gently. “Scott gave it to me. I think Allison and Lydia were a little jealous. They didn’t get gingerbread hearts.”
“Well, if I were them I’d watch out. Maybe Scott plans to elope with you,” Derek answers.
Stiles nods seriously. “I am a dreamboat after all.”
Derek really can’t deny that. The red-head snorts though, and Stiles turns to her. She flicks a lock over her shoulder. Stiles narrows his eyes at her but she smirks at him.
“You’re a failboat,” she corrects him. “Scott’s just too drunk to see the difference.”
“Hey,” Scott protests while Stiles snorts in outright indignation.
“I’ll have you know, I am very desirable, thank you very much,” Stiles huffs and raises his chin.
“To whom?” she asks. “To your hand?”
Stiles stares at her with his mouth hanging open. “You get so mean when you drink,” he complains. The red-head curls into Scott’s side with a smug smile. “That’s why I like Allison better.”
“Do you have some mulled wine left?” Scott asks before the others can go off on a tangent again.
“As a matter of fact,” Isaac starts and grins, “we have.”
Derek and Isaac empty the vat completely and hand the cups over to the other four before they start cleaning up. Stiles and his friends stay, though, nipping on their cups. Stiles keeps bickering with the read-head, Lydia as it turns out, while Scott and Allison watch them with amused expressions; until Allison pulls Lydia back against her chest, tangles their hands together, and Lydia calms. Stiles scoffs at her while Scott leans in to kiss her cheek. Apparently, it’s their way of breaking up Stiles’ and Lydia’s bickering. Undeniably effective.
Derek closes up the booth while Isaac engages in a conversation with Scott, Allison, and Lydia; Derek ends up stepping up next to Stiles.
“So, dreamboat,” Derek begins and watches how Stiles colours deliciously. He finds himself wanting to trace the flush with his tongue, explore where it leads to. “How’s your night been?”
They start walking almost unconsciously, with Isaac, Scott, Allison, and Lydia following right behind, talking animatedly.
“Good,” Stiles says nodding. “Yeah, I usually don’t really go out when I have this much stuff to do for school but we even convinced Lydia to get out, so…”
“You have to let go of all the stress sometimes.”
“Exactly,” Stiles agrees. He still has his cup of mulled wine, nips absentmindedly at it.
Derek watches Stiles for a little while, conversation died between them again. He sighs inwardly. It’s really annoying that he can’t seem to find his words around Stiles when all he wants to do is talk to him, get to know him.
“What are you doing on Christmas?” Derek asks eventually.
Stiles shrugs. “Nothing much. Dad and I will probably gorge ourselves into a food coma and after that Scott and I are most likely to play video games until our hands hurts from gripping the controllers.”
“That sounds very festive.”
Stiles snorts and nudges Derek with his elbow. “What are you doing?”
“I will probably lose ten years of my life out of exasperation because of the unholy family gathering and the resulting stress,” Derek ponders, and sighs put upon. “There’s always something to do when the whole family is around.”
“Like what?”
“Like escaping little cousins who want you to be their pony, toddlers who want to wipe their snot on your pants. Dodge nosy relatives who want every detail of your love life, and ask why I’m still single. Fleeing the scene when someone digs out Twister. And sticking my fingers into my ears when my uncle starts telling dirty jokes again.”
Stiles laughs joyously. It peters out into a wistful sigh, though. “I’ve always wondered what it’s like to have a big family. Sounds like a lot of fun.”
Derek vehemently wants to disagree, but there’s something about the tone in Stiles’ voice, the far-away expression on his face that shuts him up.
Instead, he says, “Yeah, it’s--it never gets boring.”
Stiles smiles at him, small and warm, and Derek can’t help looking at him. They stop at a red light at a crossroads. The other four fell far behind but Derek can see them walking slowly in their direction. He waits with Stiles. His eyes flicker over the cars and streetlights but he always keeps coming back to watching Stiles. He has his fingers wrapped around his cup, holds it in front of himself, and gazes absentminded into the distance.
When he catches Derek looking, he startles a little, but a smile spreads across his face nevertheless.
“Do you want some wine?” Stiles asks, tilts the cup towards Derek.
Derek hesitates for a moment. Carefully, he wraps a hand around Stiles’ wrist then, guides the hand with the cup to his mouth and takes a sip. He keeps his eyes on Stiles, watches how his eyes flutter for a second; eyelashes thick, black smudges against his pale skin. When Stiles looks up again, he locks eyes with Derek.
“I think I would’ve hung around your booth all night if it didn’t make me look like some creep,” Stiles admits quietly.
The air comes rushing out of Derek’s lungs, and it sounds loud to his own ears. “It wouldn’t have,” he says, and a slow, pleased smile unfolds on Stiles’ face.
Isaac and the other three catch up on them. Derek sees Allison hand Isaac back his phone.
Turns out they have to go into different directions now, so Derek briefly says goodbye to Stiles’ friends before he turns to Stiles again.
“See you around,” Stiles says, assured, as if he’s promising he’ll come seek Derek out.
Derek finds himself saying, “Definitely,” with excitement and satisfaction making his heart beat a little faster.
Stiles grins, waves at Isaac and joins his friends.
Isaac lifts his eyebrows at him as soon as they’re out of hearing range. “You’re not here to flirt, huh?”
Derek shoves at him. “Shut up,” he counters intelligently, and then adds, “I’m here to flirt only with him.”
*
“I want something with a dash of--”
“No, no, absolutely no dash for you,” Stiles’ familiar voice floats through just as Derek spots him. “You’ve had way too much unhealthy stuff already.”
“I’m the Sheriff. If I want a dash, I get a dash.”
“I’m your son, and if I say you don’t get a dash, you won’t get a dash.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Oh, you wanna try me, old man? Try all you want, I said no.”
Derek watches the exchanged, amused, and Laura snickers. Stiles’ eyes land on them while his dad’s roam over the list with offered drinks.
“Two mulled wines,” Stiles orders. “No dash for anyone.”
“I haven’t picked yet.”
“There’s not much to pick, they only have mulled wine.”
“With a dash of--”
“They’re out of dashes,” Stiles cuts in, pointing two fingers into his eyes and then at Derek and Laura. Laura’s hiding her huge grin behind her hand, and Derek quickly averts his gaze when the Sheriff lowers his eyes to look at him.
“Sorry, sir,” Derek says with as much of a straight face as he can muster. Which, he can proudly say, is a lot. “Laura forgot to refill.” He’ll just never pass up an opportunity to make jabs at his sister.
It’s obvious that the Sheriff doesn’t believe a word. He glowers at Derek first, and Derek wants to slink into the deepest shadow, then at Laura who looks as cowed as he feels, and then finally at Stiles who is completely unbothered. He just rubs his hands and grins.
“Where did I go wrong with you?” the Sheriff complains then as Derek turns to fill up two cups.
“You didn’t, that’s the beauty of it,” Stiles answers smugly. Derek can’t stop the grin from spreading. He throws a look at Stiles, and Stiles--Stiles winks at him. Derek almost drops the cup.
The Sheriff sighs put out while Stiles accepts the cups.
“Didn’t you know your son is a dreamboat, Sheriff?” Laura singsongs while he pays for the drink. Stiles ducks his head, cheeks flaring up even more than they already are. It drives Derek crazy.
Isaac told Laura all about it, of course. He feels bad for Stiles now.
“Yeah, well, Scott is biased,” the Sheriff answers. Stiles puffs out his chest indignantly.
“I am a dreamboat, okay, Scott knows best.”
Laura’s laughter rings through the air, and the Sheriff pats Stiles’ head, like a dad would do with his little kid. Stiles swats his hand away.
He jabs a finger at his dad. “You should be proud.”
The Sheriff smiles placatingly, curls an arm around Stiles’ shoulder and pulls him close. “I am proud of you, son.”
Laura coos, and Derek smiles back when Stiles beams first at his dad, and then at Derek.
“Well, for what it’s worth, Derek’s an adorable boat,” Laura says, bracing her forearms on the counter. “When he was younger, he was convinced he’d get into Hogwarts and would be able to get rid of his bunny teeth just like Hermione did.”
Derek whacks Laura with a towel, feeling his face heat up. He can’t catch a break.
“I think his teeth are fine,” Stiles announces, and Laura snorts into her hand. Derek’s sure he’ll never hear the end of it. He’s seriously starting to consider that dungeon idea.
“Well, Stiles has been running around the house, saying ‘How you doin?’ over and over again,” the Sheriff provides. Stiles leans against the counter and buries his face in the crook of his arm. Derek fights against the huge smirk that’s trying to steal its way onto his face but it’s futile. “He asked the neighbour’s cat. She just turned and left.”
Laura’s laughing so hard she’s shaking all over. Derek’s secretly happy that, even though it’s funny in itself, it’s a thing only Stiles and Derek really understand.
“But I gotta say, I think he has it down now,” Stiles’ dad adds. Stiles picks himself up.
“I’m gonna leave you now and go die of mortification.”
“Awwww, no, c’mon,” Laura says and wipes a tear from her eye. “Show us.”
Laura keeps trying to convince him, and Stiles refuses up until the end, until he and his dad are about to leave. He gives in finally, shifts his weight from one foot to another. Stiles’ eyes lock on Derek, he smirks a little saying, “How you doin’?”
Laura howls with laughter.
It is a pretty good impression, Derek has to admit that, but Stiles is flushed and looks embarrassed. And Derek feels almost helpless when he answers with a pleased, drawn out, “Good.” He nods for emphasis.
The Sheriff smirks at him while Stiles hides his face in his hands.
Laura’s looking at him after Stiles and the Sheriff leave. The expression on her face is contemplative, serious.
“What?”
“You are so gone on him.”
Derek can’t deny that.
*
It’s the second to last day of the Christmas market, and Derek has spotted Stiles lurking several times over the course of the evening, though he hasn’t shown at the booth. He’s alone, that much Derek can tell. Stiles is always too far away to be sure but Derek thinks he catches him looking in Derek’s direction a couple of times.
Laura’s noticed too. She braces her elbows on the counter and leans her chin into her palms. “It’s like prom all over again.”
“What?”
“Yeah, like he wants to ask you to dance but doesn’t have the guts to actually ask.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Oh, come on, Derek, like you don’t want him to.”
When he doesn’t answer, Laura smirks up at him knowingly.
He doesn’t see Stiles again until it’s fifteen minutes to closing hour. Stiles walks up to the booth with his hands behind his back, and Laura sprawls over the counter.
“Hey, Stiles,” she singsongs when he stops, grinning wolfishly. She looks up. “Oh, look. We’re under a mistletoe.”
Both Stiles and Derek follow her line of view, and Derek notices the twig of mistletoe for the first time. Laura must’ve put it up when he wasn’t paying attention. He goes hot and cold all over. Stiles looks like a deer trapped in the headlights. Derek’s pretty sure he’s gonna strangle Laura at some point. Later, if not in the very near future.
She’s already leaning towards Stiles. It’s a kneejerk reaction when Derek pushes Laura aside, saying, “Not anymore, you’re not.”
Stiles is staring at him wide-eyed. He clears his throat a couple of times. “I’m--” he stops and takes a deep breath. “You--here.”
He thrusts a giant gingerbread heart at Derek. Derek stares at it, dumbstruck, until his curls his fingers around it. He turns it around so he can read what it says, and suddenly his blood is rushing loudly in his ears.
All I want for Christmas is you.
“I’m sorry, it’s cheesy--”
“It’s perfect,” Derek croaks out. He puts the heart around his neck.
Stiles is staring at him, then his face breaks into a radiant smile. He leans forward, grabs the straps of the heart and pulls Derek in over the counter until their lips meet for a sloppy, hungry kiss.
“You have me,” Derek tells Stiles when he pulls back for a moment. He gets distracted by Stiles’ mouth: reddened and lips a little swollen already. Stiles smiles brightly at him, eyes crinkling at the corners.
“I had you at How you doin’? didn’t I?”
Derek rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but he smiles when Stiles pulls him in for another kiss.