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Language:
English
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Published:
2024-01-03
Words:
367
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
4
Kudos:
50
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6
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1,317

New Year, New Resolutions

Summary:

Derek makes a New Year’s resolution, and meets a new beau…but with either of them stay?

This fic will be updated throughout the year. Trying something for 2024.

Work Text:

“One…two…three…”

Derek pressed the bar up and away from his chest, muscles warming from the movement. Around him there was a lot of clanking and grunting, clumps of people moving around the free weights area.

“…four…five…six…”

Someone bumped into Derek, causing him to scowl. He thought about saying something but decided to ignore them and keep pumping. Instead, he closed his eyes and thought back to two nights ago at the Sheriff’s house.

He’d been hitting Melissa’s punch pretty heavily so the night was still a bit of a blur. Lots of laughter, lots of good food, banter with colleagues, freckles, moles, whiskey-brown eyes…

“…seven…eight…nine…”

Derek breathed deeply into his belly, feeling it rise and fall. The belly he’d put on since he graduated from college. His shirt had risen up to reveal a sliver of chubby skin to the cool gym air. That belly was why he was at the gym today. That and those whiskey-brown eyes. Derek pushed one more time, and thought back again.

“…ten…”

“What did you say your name was, dude?”

“Derek. Don’t call me ‘dude.’”

“…nine…”

“Ooo, so you’re against nicknames.”

“No…just…don’t like being called ‘dude.’”

“…eight…”

“Alright, what can I call you? Cutie with a booty? Deputy Hot Stuff?”

“How about Derek.”

“…seven…”

“Hmmm…how about Sourwolf?”

“What? Why?”

“…six…”

“I dunno…just fits.”

“You’re…odd.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that.”

“…five…”

“So, Sourwolf, you got any New Year’s resolutions?”

“Lose a few pounds.”

“Hmm…”

“…four…”

“You?”

“Only to open my own restaurant.”

“…three…”

“Only?”

“Well, that…and to kiss the hottest guy here at midnight.”

“…two…”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. So, you up for it?”

“…one…”

“…okay.”

“Happy New Year!”

“Hey, buddy, you done yet?”

Derek’s eyes snapped open. A preppy looking guy in shiny, brand new workout clothes was leaning over him.

Derek huffed out a frustrated sigh, then sat up, and unwrapped the braces from around his wrist.

“S’all yours.”

Derek stood up and put the braces into the bag by his feet, then pulled out his phone.

“Four new messages from ‘what the hell’s a Stiles?’” gleamed up at him.

Derek smiled, then headed over to the treadmills.