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He’s not uncoordinated or especially prone to accidents but he knows that reading emails while walking is a recipe for disaster. He’s seen the movies and he does not wish to become that cliché. The risk of him ending up running into a lamp post, or a fire hydrant for that matter, is very real so he stops out of the way of the flow of pedestrians and gives his full attention to Cora’s email.
He sends a reply and waits, watching the bouncing dots indicating she’s typing. She takes forever and he soon gets distracted by people arguing to his left. He glances up to see what it’s about and sees two men standing in the small courtyard behind the French bistro. The shorter one is talking, gesticulating angrily while the other stares at him, arms crossed over his chest and his body language clearly indicates that he’d rather be anywhere else.
He watches them, noticing small details that may seem inconsequential to passers-by but is a force of habit for him. He’s not head of the Beacon Hills detective force for nothing. The one talking is blandly unremarkable, he’s wearing a white polo and tan chinos, his mousy brown hair is cut short and styled in a classic side part and his medium skin tone puts him squarely in the nondescript category. He seems to be trying to convince his interlocutor of something but, judging by the other guy’s scowl and lack of response, he’s failing admirably.
The other man is a lot more interesting, and he can’t decide if it’s because of his bone structure, the way his nose is upturned or the length of his limbs. He can’t see what colour his eyes are, but his hair is a dark chestnut mess that is artfully styled to look as though he just got out of bed which contrasts nicely with his pale, mole covered skin. He’s all long lines and lean muscles, the sleeves of his grey t-shirt are pushed up to his elbows, revealing the colourful tattoos adorning his forearms and his legs are encased in black, form-hugging denim. Derek calculates that they are close in height, and he also recognizes that the man is exactly his type.
He can hear most of their conversation and determines that Shorty, whose name is “Not Mike. How many times do I have to say it, Stiles?” has fucked up and is trying to get back with Handsome (Stiles apparently) who’s not on-board with that plan, like at all. Choice words are exchanged, the tone escalates, Shorty complains and cajoles but Handsome holds his position without flinching. The next words are drowned by a passing truck, then he hears Stiles laugh harshly. He’s pulled out of his eavesdropping by the vibration of his phone, and he sighs as he reads Cora’s message.
He grins, shakes his head, and types a quick reply before sliding the phone back in his jacket pocket. He throws a last glance at the two men still arguing then makes his way down the sidewalk towards the next block to pick up his dry cleaning. As entertaining as people watching can be, he still has errands to run so he pushes them to the back of his mind and walks off.
oOo
Almost half an hour has passed by the time he’s walking back in front of the bistro, only to find that Mike is still trying to convince Stiles. He snorts to himself, then Mike’s words make him stop in his tracks. He doesn’t want to be a creeper but what he hears raises his hackles, so he fiddles with his phone while he listens intently. “I’m sorry, okay, it was a mistake. I shouldn’t have slept with him”. Stiles snorts, “No. A mistake is buying diet cola instead of regular. This is not a mistake, it’s you being a cheating fucker”. Mike huffs then gets vicious, “You should be grateful that I’m willing to take you back. Not everyone is ready to deal with someone like you.”
Stiles laughs out loud, and Derek sneaks a peek, trying not to stare at the fire in his eyes. “I have ADHD you dumb fuck, not a mental disability, and I’d rather be alone than with a lying piece of shit like you!” Derek almost chuckles at the affronted face Mike makes and he quickly looks down at the dark screen of his phone as a distraction. He has to give it to Mike though, the dude does not let go easily.
“You will never find someone like me, and you’ll regret it!” Stiles throws his hands in the air and shouts, “That’s the point, asshole! I told you two months ago that I did not want to see you again. What are you not getting? It’s over!”
Derek stares at Mike and he makes a split-second decision when the man’s expression turns malicious. He’s seen too many abuse cases to turn a blind eye and this man looks like he’s about to explode. He slings his dry cleaning over his shoulder and walks purposefully towards Stiles, positions himself between the two men, mouths “go with it” before cupping his cheek and kissing him thoroughly. Stiles gasps, taken by surprise, before he gets with the program and slips his tongue in Derek’s mouth, making him groan. A garbled noise behind him reminds him they have an audience, so he straightens, brushing the pad of his thumb over Stiles’ bottom lip before he drapes his arm over his shoulder and tucks him close to his body.
He stares at Mike who is clearly fuming. “So, I gather this is Mike?” Stiles’ arm snakes around his waist and he nods, ”Yeah, that’s him.” Derek stares some more, watching as the man’s face turns blotchy with redness. Mike gapes, then the posturing starts, and Derek almost laughs. He has at least eight inches and fifty pounds on the guy, but the imbecile still tries to be intimidating. Mike takes a step closer, full of false bravado, and sneers, “The name is Michael. Who the fuck are you?”
Stiles snorts and tries to turn it into a cough without much success, which has Derek grinning wolfishly, “I’m Stiles’ boyfriend and I think it’s time you went on your way.” Mike bristles and advances in Derek’s direction. The man clearly had no survival instinct, but Derek keeps the fact that he’s a wolf to himself. For now. “There is no way he’d land someone like you so he must have paid you to be here. How much was it, huh?” He sniggers, thinking he just bested him.
Derek makes a show of pushing his jacket to the side, revealing the detective shield attached to his belt and waits until he’s certain that Mike has seen it. “I suggest you shut your mouth before you dig a deeper hole for yourself, and I have no choice but to arrest you. Stiles has told you numerous times that he wants nothing more to do with you and yet here you are, clearly harassing him. Now, I strongly suggest you disappear before…” Mike puffs his chest, spitting, “Before what, huh? I’m not scared of you!”
He decides that theatrics are definitely in order and lets the beta shift take over his features. He lisps around his fangs, “Before I take matters in my own hands and arrest your sorry ass. Is that clear?”
Mike takes a step back, then another and, in a last-ditch effort at intimidation, spits at Stiles, “Whatever, who needs a bad lay like you anyway?” Derek flashes his eyes at that, a loud growl rumbling in his chest which has the unexpected effect of Mike losing control of his bladder and pissing his pants.
Stiles bursts out into a fit of giggles as they watch the front of his pants darken, then mortification settles in and turns his face dark red before he flees down the street whimpering.
Derek throws his head back and laughs until his cheeks hurt. Stiles looks at him with a large smile splitting his face, giggling as he tries to talk. “Man, that was awesome! Pretty certain I’ll never see him again!”
Derek eventually smiles then realizes that he kissed a perfect stranger, and he sobers up, rubbing a hand on the back of his head. “I’m sorry about kissing you like that. I just heard him threaten you and I just stepped in.”
Stiles flaps a hand in a shushing motion, “Are you kidding? It worked so all’s good, plus it was a pretty great kiss, so yeah, no complaints from me!”
Derek feels his cheeks burn and knows he’s blushing, but he doesn’t care as much as he should. He can’t remember the last time someone told him they liked kissing him, and he feels obnoxiously good about it. He realizes that this moment is a turning point and the thought that he could very well never see this man again sobers him instantly. He smiles shyly and looks at Stiles to try and gauge the situation, only to find him staring back at him, expression open and hopeful.
“Coffee?”. Stiles is nodding even before he finishes speaking. "Yeah. Yes! I am free. Right now. For coffee!"