Work Text:
It was a fantastic idea - until it wasn't.
"What could possibly go wrong?" Erica asked as she fiddled with her own car keys, no doubt wishing they were someone else’s, the metal flashing with the light of the sun. Erica's eyes were unreadable behind her shades, but her grin was crimson and wicked.
"For one thing," Stiles said, "I could be trapped in a car with you for an extended period of time."
She elbowed him.
"For another, we could get arrested. And I mean, actually arrested. This isn't like the time you spray painted Mr. Deacon's office door, Erica. This is Derek Hale's car."
"Exactly," she answered, not seeming to understand just how dangerous this was. It was practically suicidal. It was life and death. Okay, probably not, but it could be and that was enough for Stiles not to do it.
Everyone knew you didn't touch Derek Hale's family, leather jacket, and especially not his car. Not if you wanted to live, that is.
"Just think about it," Erica laughed. Then she turned and walked away, leaving Stiles alone in the parking lot, stunned and enticed.
He wanted to steal Derek Hale’s car.
-----
That was the problem; Stiles couldn't stop thinking about it. The car was sleek and smooth - a black Camaro. It beckoned.
He could practically feel how the wheel would thrum to life beneath his hands. He could already imagine himself shaking with adrenaline, Erica laughing like her wild self in the passenger seat, as they stole away in the Camaro.
Erica had known the idea would get to him. Stiles had a thing for causing mischief.
It had never gotten to the degree of really breaking the law before, but it had gotten close several times. (Cough, cough, Erica.)
There had been, of course, the time Erica had spray painted Mister Mister lyrics onto Mr. Deaton's office door. It had resulted in a month of detention that Erica somehow managed to get placed on Stiles as well, but also school-wide fame. Mainly for Erica, though; her list of admirers had almost doubled.
Stiles told himself that people were just better at keeping their admiration for him a secret.
And then there was that time he had stuffed Jackson's locker full of neon water balloons. That one had been all Stiles, which gave him a golden opportunity to brag to Erica when he didn't get any detention.
"Stealth," he told her. "Look it up."
Of course, a soaking wet Jackson, who looked amusingly like an angry cat, had beaten the shit out of him. But, you know, semantics.
Not to mention the countless times Stiles and Erica had skipped class to go get a milkshake, or just sit on the hood of Stiles' jeep and watch the sky, painting on the streaks of blue and white and purple with their fingers.
Stiles didn't know why he liked mischief so much. He never engaged too much - he kept up a decent GPA, he'd never been arrested - hell, he'd never even gotten a speeding ticket. A damn good thing, too, because Sheriff Stilinski didn't take those lightly. Maybe Stiles' love for mischief was because his only parent was the sheriff. Maybe he was unconsciously rebelling. Maybe he liked stirring up trouble because it made him feel important.
Or maybe, Stiles decided, he just liked the taste of danger.
-----
Erica didn't bring up Derek Hale's Camaro for two whole weeks. Stiles was impressed with her unusual amount of restraint. But he was also frustrated; he wanted to broach the subject, but he didn't want to admit that Erica had been right. So he kept quiet, biding his time, because he knew she could only keep an exciting idea to herself for so long.
It took Derek Hale himself for the subject to reemerge.
Derek Hale was a bad boy without actually having to be all that bad. He spanned multiple social groups, but he wasn't truly a part of any of them. He was captain of the lacrosse team, and he was an honor student, and he the school's resident bad boy. But, Stiles had noticed, he was his reputation more than he was anyone's friend.
Derek got his reputation from his Freshman year, when Stiles had merely been a tiny 7th grader, hearing the story from kids who had older siblings. According to legend, some snot nosed junior had asked Derek if his sister Laura, who had been a senior that year, sent nudes. And if so, if he could get her number.
In short, Derek told him that if he ever disrespected his family like that again, Derek was going to rip his throat out with his teeth.
And that was all it had taken for everyone to give Derek Hale a wide berth for the next four years. Stiles, who was but a lowly sophomore, attempted to be a sheep and steer clear as well. Honestly, he didn't trust his own mouth, and he liked his throat intact, thank you very much. It was safer avoiding Derek.
But the universe hated Stiles with a bitter and unexplainable passion.
Which was why everywhere he turned, Derek Hale was. It was strange, uncanny, and not just a little bit scary. It seemed like every corner Stiles turned he was bumping into Derek's broad, tempting chest. A chest he was just a tad bit disinclined to move away from.
So maybe Stiles had a small (monstrously huge) crush on Derek Hale.
That fact just made it all the more urgent to avoid Derek, and all the more unfortunate that the universe hated him.
It was late September, and Stiles was roaming the halls. He had forgotten his Math book, and he needed to study for the test tomorrow if he wanted to maintain any semblance of a good GPA. That is, if he wanted to keep skipping as much as he did and keep up a good GPA.
He was just turning the corner to Sophomore Hall when he caught yet another face full of Derek Hale.
"Oof," he grunted. Derek's hands came up and tightly closed around his arms, steadying him.
"Hey," said Stiles. "Thanks for, you know, not killing me upon contact. It means a lot.”
This was why Stiles should not be allowed out in public. Ever.
Derek got this constipated look on his face, like he was trying to figure out how he had gotten in this situation. Or maybe what was the quickest way to murder Stiles and stuff him in someone's trunk.
"Um," said Stiles, working his charm. "I think I better leave. Head out. You know. Places to go, people to see."
Derek still hadn't let Stiles go.
"You gonna let go anytime soon, big guy?" Stiles hedged.
Derek seemed to snap out of his reverie. "What are you still doing here?" He asked, his brow furrowed. Stiles decided no one should look that gorgeous with their face all wrinkled.
"I could ask you the same thing." Suddenly concerned for his throat's welfare, he tacked on a real answer. "But I'm just grabbing my math book."
Derek nodded once, curtly, and Stiles took that as a dismissal. Halfway down the hallway, however, he was stopped one more time.
"I'm an after school tutor," Derek called. "That's why I'm still here."
Stiles paused, and then turned to answer, but Derek was already gone.
-----
The idea of Derek being a tutor was almost as distracting to Stiles as his car.
Stiles could picture Derek's long fingers wrapped around a pencil, his plush lips explaining the finer details of Algebra 2. He wondered how Derek would act, sound, in a quiet environment, when they were the only two in the room...
And that was a dangerous line of thought.
Stiles didn't know why it came as such a shock to him. Derek was good at everything he did, and he was an honors student. It was no surprise the school had asked him to be a tutor.
But maybe it was the way Stiles had found out. It wasn't through some mindless gossip, or any second hand source. Derek Hale himself had told him, albeit in a very strange fashion.
Almost as if he had wanted to start a conversation. As if Stiles was someone he wanted to talk to.
-----
"Where the hell are you going?" asked Erica. "I thought we were going to get shakes after school."
Stiles paused guiltily on his way to the student center. It was where the library and student services were located. More importantly, it was where the tutors were - and with the tutors came Derek.
"Uh, about that. I might have to take a rain check. Say, second hour tomorrow? I've been itching to skip Harris's class anyway."
Erica grabbed Stiles' shoulder and raised a perfectly trimmed eyebrow at him. "And why do we have to postpone? You love milkshakes. You're usually all over it."
"I'm heading to the student center."
"What? Why?"
"I’m going to return a book to the library," attempted Stiles.
Erica looked remarkably unconvinced.
"I'm ... I'm just going to see a tutor, okay?"
Erica's second eyebrow joined her first, inching towards her hairline. "Since when have you been that anal about your grades? I know you care more than me, but even you don't go to tutors."
"I'm struggling with Algebra 2," Stiles lied, continuing on his way to the student center. Unfortunately, Erica followed.
Stiles didn't really have all that much trouble with Algebra 2. But he figured, just this once, it wouldn't hurt for him to be the one to search Derek out. And his grade could always get better.
He wasn't sure why he wanted to put himself in the line of fire and risk his big mouth around Derek's possibly violent tendencies. Maybe it was because he'd been so distracted by Derek; if he spent a concentrated amount of time around Derek, maybe he would be able to focus on his life better.
Some small part of him admitted that he wanted to reach out to Derek the same way Derek had in the hallway the other day. When he'd told Stiles he was a tutor. Stiles hoped he wasn't reading too far into that gesture - maybe Derek always shared random life facts with near strangers.
Erica had to jog lightly to keep up with Stiles now. "And what is my precious Stiles searching out amongst the tutors?" she asked, and Stiles was glad to hear her breathing heavy.
"Academic excellency.”
They reached the doors to the student center, and Stiles tried desperately to lock Erica out. She stuck her foot in the door just in time.
"Look, just go get a milkshake. Or toilet paper Jackson's house, or something else useful," Stiles tried.
"No such luck. I'm here for your educational pursuit, darling. Don't blush, now, you know I'll always support you. I’m like a good bra."
"Stiles?"
"Derek?" Stiles squeaked, spinning around. And yep, there was Derek Hale, looming above Stiles and staring at Erica with a complicated expression troubling his face. He still somehow managed to look like some sort of male model.
And he was just a bit too close for comfort. Stiles could feel the heat radiating from Derek's broad chest into the small space between them.
Stiles tried to fight the blush that threatened his cheeks, but it was too late. Erica looked back and forth between Stiles and Derek, a predatory smile creeping onto her face.
"Ah, Stiles, you didn't tell me you'd be engaging in something this educational. I think I’ll be leaving you two alone now; don't get into too much trouble without me." Erica backed away slowly, winking blatantly at Stiles.
"Stay safe you two," she called as she spun out of the student center doors.
"What are you doing here?" Derek asked. It wasn't the best start to a friendly conversation, but he didn't sound quite like he was going to rip Stiles' throat out. Stiles was willing to take what he could get.
"What's up, big guy? You still into that whole tutoring business?" Stiles waggled his eyebrows a little bit for dramatic affect. Derek rolled his eyes.
"What do you need help with?" he asked, already heading towards the tutoring desks. Stiles followed after him, assuming the question to be an invitation.
Derek lead them over to a small, mellowly lit table and Stiles tossed his bag onto it, flinging himself into the seat opposite of Derek. He decided just to launch right into the business side of it.
“Algebra 2 is kicking my ass, and Lord knows Jackson does that enough for everyone.” Rather than laughing, Derek’s brow crinkled further. Backtracking, Stiles said, “And I could just use some help on a couple problems, you know?”
He pulled out his most recent homework, and Derek’s expression cleared slightly. He pulled it gently from Stiles and looked it over.
A half an hour later, and Stiles was ready to call it quits. There was only so much math he could take at once. He was beginning to itch for Adderall, and Derek was the only thing keeping him there.
“Does he give you trouble?” asked Derek suddenly. Stiles jumped slightly.
“Uh, who?”
Derek blinked impatiently. “Jackson. Does he give you trouble?”
“Uh, yeah, sometimes I guess. He’s always been a dick verbally, been it hasn’t really gotten physical until recently.” More specifically, until after the water balloon incident. “It’s no big deal, though.”
And Derek looked, well, pissed. And that was...not a good sign. Was he mad Stiles had issues with one of his teammates? He hadn’t seemed like one of those “I stick up for my teammates no matter what!” kind of guys to Stiles, but maybe he had read Derek wrong…. Stiles weighed his chances in staying and possibly getting his throat ripped out, or making a break for the door.
Stiles’ phone started buzzing from where it sat on the table, interrupting the tense silence, and he had never been happier to see his dad’s name pop up on it. “Well,” he said, gathering his things in a rush. “That’s my cue to leave.”
Derek opened his mouth.
“My father is calling,” Stiles interrupted, waving his phone wildly at Derek. It stopped ringing, but Stiles just ignored it.
Derek reopened his mouth. And yep, he still looked pissed.
“Bye! Gotta go!” Stiles rushed out the doors, not looking back to see Derek’s stunned face.
-----
“You ran away?!” Erica crowed over the phone that night. Stiles was supposed to be doing English homework, and he was beginning to regret calling her. “You complete dumbass!”
“What was I supposed to do? He was going to kill me!”
“So what?” Erica retorted. “His violent rage is hot as hell, and I know you think it is. You like him,” she accused with all the maturity of a 3rd grader.
And she was right. About everything. Which was why Stiles remained obstinately silent; Erica sighed loudly over the line.
“Listen,” she declared wisely. “You like him, and from the way he looked at you today, I’m pretty damn sure he wouldn’t mind a trip in your pants.”
Stiles made a noise of protest and she steamrolled right over him. “No, shut up, and listen to me. Go make out with him. Have fun; you deserve some fun. Okay?” She sounded almost sincere.
“Aww, thanks,” Stiles cooed, though he wasn’t convinced. “I knew you loved me.”
“Hey,” she said suddenly. “Is this why you won’t steal his car with me?”
Stiles hung up.
-----
And dear God, there was something wrong with Stiles, because he still wanted to steal Derek’s car. Even though Derek now tutored him every other day after school. Even though Derek now said hi when Stiles plowed into him in the halls. Even though Stiles was maybe sort of developing feelings for Derek that weren’t simply sexual.
And - even worse - the idea of stealing Derek’s car kind of did it for Stiles. He wanted more and more to be in an actual relationship with Derek, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to see Derek angry ….
So he kind of wanted Derek to shove him into a wall. Big whoop.
At least Erica thought it was. She teased him relentlessly, and then she teased him some more. But beyond that, she practically begged him to go make out with Derek.
“Talk to him,” she insisted. “Just go suck his dick or something.”
There was a reason Stiles never took advice from Erica.
But something strange did happen with Derek, about a week after the Tutoring Incident (Stiles was looking into getting it copyrighted). Jackson had shoved him into a locker - perhaps a little harder than usual, but nothing Stiles hadn’t seen before, that’s for damn sure.
“Keep your hands to yourself, dick head,” Erica called after him like usual. Jackson just flipped them off and walked away.
Normally, that kind of stuff didn’t even phase anyone, least of all Jackson. But by the end of that day, word got around school that Jackson was with the school’s nurse, treating a split lip, black eye, and one nasty broken nose.
Also, Derek Hale had gotten suspended for two days.
Stiles was in ruins. "He beat up Jackson,” he said wonderingly to Erica over and over again. She didn’t seem to get it.
“Yeah, he beat him up for you.”
“Erica, he broke Jackson’s nose.”
“Go ask him out,” Erica said, looking fairly uninterested.
“I don’t think you understand. He beat up Jackson.”
Erica smacked the back of his head. “Would you stop saying that?! Everyone between here and Texas knows Derek Hale beat up Jackson. But you happen to be the only complete dumbass who doesn’t realize he beat up Jackson because Jackson harrasses you non stop.”
“People don’t … beat up other people for me,” Stiles said, then winced, wishing he didn’t sound quite so pathetic.
Erica softened a bit.“Sometimes,” she said comfortingly, “you are more stupid than Scott is. And he decided to be a foreign exchange student in Canada.”
“That has nothing to do with Derek. Or me.”
“Canada,” she repeated wonderingly. “All for some girl named Allison.”
-----
The first day Derek was suspended, Stiles Did Not go see him. He Did Not (capital letters and all) because it was an event marking extreme restraint (“Cowardice,” insisted Erica). He marveled at his impeccable self control; it took all of his strength to avoid Derek at all costs. Truly. And no, he was not chicken, thank you very much Erica.
The second day Derek was suspended, Stiles woke up practically twitching. There was an itch somewhere deep inside him that refused to disappear. It was a real stubborn ass.
All through Harris' yelling and Algebra 2's droning, all though Erica's snide comments and people discussing Jackson's busted face, Stiles felt that itch. It stood firm in his stomach and told him to go fuck himself when he tried to get it to go away.
"Are you okay?" Erica finally asked at lunch, as Stiles doggedly picked at the school's mushy salad. He looked up sharply, because genuine concern coming from Erica was rare and it meant something.
"I need to see Derek," he blurted before even he realized what it was that he needed.
Erica looked unsurprised. "Then you know what you need to do," she said.
It was no shock to anyone, least of all Erica, when Stiles disappeared before the end of lunch.
-----
Derek's house was secluded, and it had the air of another world around it. Stiles stood on his lawn and felt like some sort of trespassing idiot. He walked up to the door several times and then paced back to his jeep, his stomach twisting like overcooked noodles. Maybe puking all over Derek wasn’t the best idea at the moment; maybe he should just leave.
Stiles hovered outside of the door. This was it. This was stupid, possibly the most stupid thing he’d ever thought he could do. He would just leave before Derek ever had the chance to find out, and screw what Erica said.
And then Derek opened the door. Fuck. “Stiles,” he said, his voice shocked and scratchy with sleep. His hair was mussed endearingly, as if he had just woken up, and his shirt looked warm and soft from where it stretched over his shoulders. And fuck, Stiles was gone.
“Derek,” echoed Stiles.
“Come in,” Derek said, beginning to look concerned. He lead Stiles past a warmly glowing kitchen and a slightly messy living room. It looked nothing like the despairing isolation Stiles had imagined Derek would be in during his suspension; it looked happily lived in. Stiles felt his own ridiculousness even more acutely.
He didn’t have time to dwell on his stupidity, however, for Derek was leading him down a dark hallway to what must be Derek’s room.
Derek’s room. Stiles stomach knotted itself even more.
Derek’s room smelled like Derek, and Stiles loved it more than was probably healthy. His bed was unmade and looked like it was just begging Stiles to lay in it, and a few clothing items littered the floor. Derek quickly swept them into the closet. Stiles watched him nervously.
“So why are you here?” Derek finally asked.
“Why did you beat up Jackson?” Stiles blurted by way of answering. Derek looked … well, like that had not been what he was suspecting.
“He pushed you,” he answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“He pushes me a lot,” Stiles pointed out. Derek’s brow furrowed. “I mean, it’s nothing new.”
“I know you now. I...” Derek struggled to explain. “You’re…”
“I’m what?” Stiles prompted. They were closer now, close enough where Stiles could feel Derek’s intoxicating heat. He felt embarrassingly faint. An expectant silence surrounded them and Stiles could have sworn they were both holding their breath.
“Mine,” he finished. Stiles felt the complicated tangle of knots in his stomach melt. And that goddamned itch intensified and became unbearable.
And then they were kissing, and the itch faded into the background and everything was Derek and Derek’s hands and the word mine mine mine echoing in Stiles’ head. They pulled away only after Stiles was aching for breath and they were both panting.
“I’m yours,” Stiles whispered. And then, a moment later, in an equally awed voice: “So you would rip out someone's throat for me.”
Derek sighed.
-----
It wasn’t until they had made out for hours against every possible surface - Derek’s bed and his kitchen counter and the couch and the front door, to name a few - that Stiles saw the Camaro again.
“My parents are going to be home soon. We should probably do this now,” Derek explained as he tugged Stiles in the direction of the shining Camaro. It was surrounded by several other cars, none of which beckoned to Stiles in the same way Derek's did.
Derek pressed Stiles to the front door of the Camaro and leaned in to whisper into Stiles’ ear.
“I’ve seen you looking at my car,” Derek murmured. His breath was warm and ghosted across Stiles’ cheek. A second later, Stiles was shocked to feel the cold, jagged press of car keys in his hand. Everything felt surreal, but Stiles felt a smile climb onto his face and settle there. It was his turn to lean forward, whisper the next words into Derek’s ear.
“Chase me.”
And Stiles knew he would.