#meddling!peter

At the time he made the claim, Derek didn't really think that it would be so bad, reasoning that with the master bedroom's California king bed they wouldn't even notice that they were sharing a room. But now that their first day at the cabin was winding down, the sky outside pitch black and dotted with bright white stars, it was dawning on him that this was going to be a bit more complicated than he thought.

Most of them had spent the day settling into their rooms before gathering in the living room to roast marshmallows in the fireplace and try the expensive vodka Erica found in one of the kitchen cabinets. Both Stiles and Derek had studiously avoided the room they were to share, busying themselves with other things.

As Stiles called the Sheriff to let him know that they had gotten to the cabin safely, assuring his dad that he would run home the second he needed him. To give Stiles some privacy, Derek had braved the bitter cold of the forest to gather some more wood for the fireplace.

Just as Stiles said, he and Derek did in fact usually share blankets while lounging on the couch in the loft, especially after long nights of research. But while they had often fallen asleep together, Stiles' head on Derek's shoulder, sharing a bed was something different altogether.

The bed seemed much smaller than the last time he had seen it, especially when he took into consideration Stiles' long limbs and tendency to starfish out when he slept. But despite the lack of room to stretch, the bed looked unbelievably comfortable with its thick blanket and fluffy pillows. And he was so tired that he just wanted to fall into bed and conk out for a full eight hours.

"What side do you usually sleep on?" Stiles asked, drawing Derek's attention away from the siren call of the bed. He was standing by the side of the bed in his pajamas, blue striped pajama pants and a baggy orange t-shirt, holding his pillow in his arms and biting his lip.

"This side," Derek answered, indicating his preferred side of the bed with a wave of his hand. Stiles flashed him a grin and plopped down on the other side of the bed, setting his pillow on top of the other two already on the bed.

Stiles had already showered and brushed his teeth in the en suite bathroom, smelling of mint and body wash, leaving the door of the bathroom open for Derek to get ready for bed. Leaving Stiles to get comfortable in bed, Derek trotted into the bathroom and mechanically brushed his teeth, giving himself a little pep talk, trying to reassure himself that sharing a bed wouldn't be all that bad.

But considering for how long he had been harboring feelings for Stiles, it would be a veritable miracle if things went smoothly. Derek had never had very good luck, though, so his hopes that he wouldn't make things awkward weren't very high.

After gargling with some strong mouthwash and rinsing his face with some cold water, Derek realized something and poked his head out the bathroom. He hoped his nervousness wasn't obvious as he explained, "I, uh, usually sleep without a shirt. That okay?"

It wasn't exactly a lie, not really. He really did usually sleep with no shirt on. Or pants. Or underwear. He liked to sleep naked, okay?

It was just more comfortable, loving the feel of soft sheets against his naked skin. Maybe it was a wolf thing, maybe it was just a Derek thing, but either way, he definitely had to alter his routine because there was no way he was climbing into bed naked with Stiles. At least, not while he was awake, though the scenario was a frequent star of his late night dreams.

Instead, Derek just peeled off his t-shirt, keeping on the baggy gray sweatpants he had changed into after the dinner Stiles had cooked earlier. Still a bit wary, Derek turned off the lights and padded out of the bathroom, stretching a bit as he made his way to his side of the bed.

Pulling the covers back, he let out a deep yawn and climbed into bed, sighing as he laid down and stretched out his legs. The bed was even more comfortable than it looked. Stiles flicked the bedroom lights off a few seconds later, mumbling, "Night, Derek."

Despite how luxuriously comfy the bed was, Derek didn't let himself take advantage of it. He huddled close to the edge of the mattress, close to tumbling off the bed and into the floor that didn't look anywhere as soft as the bed.

It wasn't the best position to fall asleep in but exhaustion made his eyelids heavy, the sweet call of sleep lulling him into a light doze that was rudely interrupted when Stiles smacked him in the face with his hand. Nearly falling out of bed as he jolted, Derek hissed, "What the hell?!"

"Mmm... Sorry..." Stiles mumbled, his eyes still closed as he scrunched up his nose and issued his half-assed apology. A moment later, he cracked one eye open and frowned, jutting out his bottom lip as he wondered aloud, "What're you doing all the way over there?"

Derek opened his mouth to explain and promptly realized that he didn't have a good reason and he couldn't come up with any, either. That left him gaping at Stiles like the talking big mouth bass mounted on the wall in the Sheriff's office.

"C'mere, dude," Stiles slurred, motioning Derek over with his hand, raising his brows impatiently. Derek silently obeyed, scooching over towards the center of the bed where Stiles promptly threw an arm around his chest and closed his eyes again, murmuring, "See? Isn't that better?"

But Derek remained stock still. He had no idea what to do.

He had a sneaking suspicion it was all a dream and he would wake up alone in his bedroom, surrounded by cold sheets. But the warmth of Stiles beside him felt so real he didn't care, willing to lie there forever if it meant he could be in Stiles' arms.

He turned his head to look at Stiles, expecting gently closed eyes and parted lips as he snored, but Stiles was looking right back at him. They smiled at each other, both content with just lying there together.

Then, completely out of nowhere, Stiles leaned forward a few centimeters and pressed his lips to Derek's in a gentle kiss. It was the sweetest kiss Derek ever had the pleasure of enjoying, soft and unhurried with no intent behind it, just a kiss for the sake of kissing.

"Sorry," Stiles murmured as he ducked his chin, uncharacteristically shy. He licked his lips, whether it was out of nervousness or embarrassment Derek didn't know, and elaborated, "It's just... If I didn't do it right now, I probably never would've."

Peter had come to him earlier that evening, letting himself into the loft and rudely interrupting Derek’s solo Lord of the Rings marathon, to toss a garment bag into Derek’s lap. At Derek’s raised eyebrow and annoyed scowl, Peter had rolled his eyes and explained that as a thanks to those who had donated money for the station’s repairs, the sheriff’s department was hosting a dinner in honor of all of the donors.

Derek had initially tried to shrug it off, too engrossed in the Two Towers to bother getting all dressed up for some fancy dinner and awkward small talk, just wanting to hand out in his ratty old sweatpants and eat three pints of Ben and Jerry’s by himself. He had never really been one for pointless socializing anyway, not when he could isolate himself from the rest of the world and indulge in one of his more nerdy interests.

But Peter had been having none of it, snatching the remote off the coffee table to flick off the TV before crossing his arms over his chest and pinning Derek with a thoroughly judgemental glare, arching an unimpressed. Derek had met his uncle’s glower with a withering glare of his own, the two werewolves staring each other down until Peter decided to play dirty.

Throwing up his hands in an excessively dramatic gesture, he mumbled a snide remark under his breath, claiming that if Derek wanted to disappoint Stiles then that was his choice and there was nothing he could do about it. Turning around as though he was going to leave, he began muttering about how hard Stiles had worked to set up the dinner, mentioning him staying up all night planning meals and mailing invitations.

Derek didn’t think he had ever stood up as fast as he did in his entire life at the mere mention of Stiles’ name. He grabbed the garment and stalked down the hall to the bathroom to get changed, bitterly mumbling about meddling uncles who couldn’t keep their noses to themselves.

Because of course once Peter found out about Derek’s pathetic little infatuation with Stiles, he would use it against Derek as possible just to get his own way. He had only mumbled Stiles’ name in the middle of the night while dreaming about him one single time and Peter had refused to let him live it down ever since.

Though Derek couldn’t really blame him. His little crush was nothing if not laughable, a pitiful bout of enamoredness that had been going on for nearly three years now.

He knew it was stupid and hopeless and, more than anything, downright pathetic with a capital p but he couldn’t help it. Stiles was just so amazing.

He was hands down the most loyal person that Derek had ever met, his unwavering dedication to his friends and family rivaling even that of a werewolf as he proved time and time again that he was more than willing to lay down his life for the people he cared about. And as much as Derek admired him for his selflessness, it was also infuriating as hell, his heart getting caught in his throat every time Stiles voluntarily put himself in harm’s way.

He was unimaginably smart, constantly blowing Derek away with his sharp wit and practically endless knowledge about anything and everything that came to mind, whether it was relevant at the moment or not. Derek was a hundred percent certain that if he really wanted to, Stiles could take over the entire world in one night, not that he would ever want to.

Because while Stiles could most definitely be a bit of an asshole, a lovable asshole but an asshole nonetheless, he wasn’t cruel or power-hungry. He was kind, in his own subtle understated, almost modest way, as though embarrassed by his own gentleness. But it was still always there.

It was there in the way that he always made absolutely sure that his dad had healthy food to eat. In the way that he did all of the grocery shopping so that the Sheriff wouldn’t be tempted to pick up chips or cookies or any kinds of other junk food. In the way that he enlisted the rest of both the pack and the sheriff’s department in his crusade to ensure that his father didn’t cheat on the restrictive diet his doctors had put him on for his high cholesterol and through-the-roof blood pressure.

It was there in the way that he was always the first to volunteer to help Isaac with his homework whenever he struggled with the required readings for English or the more complex equations for algebra. In the way that he would spend however long was necessary to help him finish all of his work, despite the fact that he and the curly haired beta still pretended to hate each other’s guts.

And Derek loved him for it. For everything about himself. So much so that he was willing to strip out of his sinfully comfy sweats to pull on a stiff, uncomfortable tuxedo just to avoid possibly disappointing him. And now he was up on stage with a sea of people he didn’t know bidding on him like he was a slab of meat.

Apparently, the sheriff’s department was still in need of money for repairs, only a few thousand dollars away from their goal, everything save for water damage cleanup already paid for. In order to raise the last bit of money necessary to complete the reconstruction, someone, probably Peter, had come up with the brilliant idea of holding a date auction with all of the proceeds from the auction going to the repair fund.

After quite literally being shoved out onto the stage by his uncle, Derek realized that he wasn’t the only one who had somehow gotten roped into participating in the auction, a whole line of other people up on stage dressed to the nines in tuxedos and cocktail dresses. He noticed Isaac and Erica in the lineup, the former fumbling with his dark blue bowtie that refused to cooperate while the latter confidently beamed at the crowd in her little black dress that left very little to the imagination.

Derek seriously considered just turning on his heel and running off the stage, especially since it wasn’t as though anyone could really catch him. He was an alpha after all. But it was the fact that it was Stiles’ dad who really needed the money that kept him rooted to the spot, stuffing his hands in his pockets and staring down at his shoes.

He didn’t want to look at the people in the audience, the people who would be bidding on him.

Coach Finstock had been appointed as the auctioneer, most likely due to his uncanny ability to talk almost as fast as Stiles could, rattling off numbers and starting bids so quick that Derek could only just barely hear him. He started at the other end of the line, leaving Derek for last, not that the small mercy did much to calm his nerves if anything only making him more anxious.

Boyd won the auction for Erica, beating out some other guy who looked around the betas’ ages with a bid of one thousand dollars, the highest bid of the night at that point. Allison and Kira became embroiled in a lighthearted auction war over Isaac, giggling together until Jackson outbid the both of them, a wide smirk stretching across his face at their shocked expressions.

Derek waited for Coach Finstock to start the bidding for him, watching as the line leading up to him dwindled down to nothing, those already accounted for stepping back a few feet. He nervously fidgeted with a crumpled up gum wrapper in his pocket as Finstock drew closer, biting the inside of his cheek.

He was shocked out of his anxious thoughts, his mind immediately jumping to the worst possible ways the night could end, when Finstock curled an arm around his shoulders and loudly announced into his microphone, right by Derek’s ear, “And our last lot of the night: Derek Hale!”

Derek winced, physically cringing as his preternaturally sensitive ears began ringing incessantly, Finstock’s grating voice echoing in his head, along with his choice of words. Lot. Like Derek was an abandoned storage locker on one of those insufferable storage war shows that Isaac was so fond of, like he was a foreclosed upon house waiting for someone to flip it, like he was a sheep waiting to be slaughtered.

But Finstock wasn’t done. He squeezed Derek’s shoulder much too tight, even for a werewolf, with a crowing laughing, urging him, “C’mon, Derek! Wave to the nice people! This is for sheriff’s department, after all!”

Derek reluctantly pulled his left hand out of his pocket and awkwardly waved at the room full of people, feeling his cheeks flush bright red with heat at the unwanted attention, the tips of his ears burning as he shyly ducked his head. He wasn’t usually so easily spooked by large crowds. While he was more solitary and introverted than most, specifically most werewolves, he had never been one to suffer from stage fright though he had certainly fallen victim to it in that moment.

“Derek likes classic literature, morning runs, and howling at the moon!” Finstock announced, reading off of a white cue card he had seemingly pulled out of thin air, the exact words he had used making Derek want to smack himself upside the head. He should have known that something was fishy when Erica interviewed for her journalism class a few days prior, the questions she had asked him clearly having nothing to do with the curriculum.

So, at least one of his betas had been in on it. Training sessions would be much more strenuous and punishing in the weeks to come, he would be sure of that.

But for the time being, he just hoped that the last little tidbit about the moon didn’t make anyone do much more than raise their brows, Derek only including it in his list of three things he enjoyed just to annoy Erica after she had interrupted his quiet time just as he was getting to the good part of his book. But, alas, Finstock called attention to it, unwinding his arm from around Derek’s shoulders to scratch his head, muttering into the microphone, “Not really sure what the hell that last part’s about―” he paused before brightening again, face breaking into a wide grin as he continued on “―But who cares? Let’s start the bidding at a hundred dollars!”

Out of the corner of his eyes, dipping his chin again, Derek noticed people raising their bright red, heart-shaped auction placards, silently placing bids on him. He couldn’t bear to watch, keeping his eyes firmly planted on the toes of his dress shoes, discreetly hunching his shoulders and trying to block out the sound of Coach Finstock rapidly raising the price.

However, despite the fact that he was doing his best to ignore the sounds in the large room, he couldn’t help but notice when a curiously familiar voice broke the tense silence of the auction, calling out, “Five thousand!”

No one else raised their placard to challenge whoever had made the outrageous bid. The room fell deathly quiet again save for Finstock who sputtered incredulously into the microphone before squawking, “Sold! To the man in the red hoodie! Bilinski, is that you?!”

Derek’s head snapped up so fast he was surprised that it didn’t fly off. Because there was no way. No way that Stiles had just bid five thousand dollars for a date with him.

Aside from the fact that Stiles clearly could not afford to throw five thousand dollars away on something that was actually important ― like buying a new car to replace that hunk of junk Jeep, even though Derek knew that Stiles would sooner die than do such a thing ― let alone on something as ridiculous as a date auction; there was no way Stiles would ever want to voluntarily go on a date with him.

And yet, the person who stood up from their table to jog over to the side of the stage where the winners of the auction were lining up to greet their dates for the evening, was none other than Stiles himself. There was a brilliant smile on his face as he followed after Boyd and Jackson, the hood of his red sweatshirt bobbing up and down as he hurried to the stage as the rest of the attendees stood and shuffled out of the room.

Glancing over at the table Stiles had stood from, Derek caught the Sheriff in the middle of an exaggerated eye-roll as he too stood, his expression more fond than frustrated or upset which would have been the natural, expected reaction when one’s son willingly agreed to spend five thousand dollars on a whim. He watched as the Sheriff stood, shrugging on his jacket before politely pulling Melissa’s chair out for her as she too rolled her eyes at Stiles’ irrefutably ridiculous bid, sending John a sympathetic before she began her walk to the door.

Derek lingered on stage for a bit longer, letting the other participants pass by him and greet their dates, needing a few moments to rehearse what he was going to say to Stiles in his head. He couldn’t very well just ad-lib it, that had gotten him into enough trouble in the past to be well aware of the risks of not thoroughly planning ahead.

Erica smirked widely at him as she strolled passed him, her insanely tall high heels clicking rhythmically on the stage floor as she added a bit more sway than usual to her hips, clearly showing off for her boyfriend who had already paid a pretty penny for their date. She winked at him before glancing over at Stiles who was waiting patiently at the side of the stage, making conversation with another bidder, with a mischievous self-satisfied grin on her blood red lips.

Derek shook his head, not having to think very hard to know what she was thinking about, well accustomed to her dirty mind thanks to weekly pack meetings and full moons spent hanging out at the loft watching movies. She probably thought that he and Stiles were actually going to go on a real date, out to dinner or the movies. Anything else she thought might happen between them was surely x-rated.

Shaking himself, he took a deep steeling breath and turned to head off the stage, greeting Stiles with a tight, forced smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. But Stiles didn’t seem to notice, beaming right back at him as he bounced on the balls of his feet, excitedly waiting for Derek to make it down the steps.

“Hey,” Stiles greeted, one hand buried in the pocket of his hoodie while he scratched the back of his head with the other, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Derek acknowledged him with a curt bob of his head, keeping his own hands in his pockets, still going over his self-appointed lines in his head. Tilting his head to the side to indicate the side door beside the stage, Stiles suggested, “C’mon, man.”

Derek followed him into the hallway, away from the prying eyes of the other who were still standing by the stage, making sure the door was closed behind them. Stiles didn’t seem to care either way, too preoccupied with babbling on about something, Derek only blinking and jumping to attention when he heard Stiles ask, “So, what do you wanna do? I figure we could go out to dinner or maybe see a movie, I think that art film you were talking about seeing is still in theaters and we could probably catch the next showing, I mean it is only eight thirty.”

Derek sat through Stiles rambling on about how early in the evening the auction, verbally debating the pros and cons of the timing with himself. However, he finally cut him off when he began to apologize profusely, mumbling, “And sorry about the whole bidding on you thing. I have a feeling you didn’t exactly volunteer for the auction. You just looked so uncomfortable and I figured it’d be better if I won the auction instead of some weirdo you don’t know―”

“Just forget about it, Stiles,” Derek sighed after forcibly clearing his throat, now assured that his next words wouldn’t be breaking Stiles’ heart. He was right. Stiles didn’t want to go out with him. He was just being nice.

“Huh?” Stiles hummed, looking over his shoulder at Derek with a few deep creases in his forehead, his soft pink lips open in a perfect little o.

“The date,” Derek clarified, running a hand through his hair. With a shrug, he continued, tacking on, “Just forget about it. I’ll pay the five thousand dollars you bid and we can both just go home and forget about this whole thing.”

“Oh,” Stiles murmured, visibly deflating as he mumbled the monosyllabic word, his shoulders slumping as he ducked his head, resolutely refusing to meet Derek’s eyes again. Wrapping his arms around himself, he nodded, letting out a deep sigh as he leaned back against the nearest, looking uncannily like a little puppy who had just been kicked.

It didn’t make any sense. Stiles should be elated that he didn’t have to pay five thousand of his own hard-earned dollars, that he didn’t have to actually go out on some half-hearted pity date with Derek. And yet there he was with his head down, looking like Derek had just ruined his entire night. It really didn’t make any sense. Unless…

“Stiles?” Did you…want to go on a date with me?”

Stiles snorted a scoff and shook his head in disbelief, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he straightened up and pinned Derek with an incredulous glare. Shifting to cross his arms over his chest, thoroughly unamused, Stiles announced, “Yeah, I did. Of course, I did. But you clearly don’t wanna go on a date with me so let’s just freaking drop it, okay?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Derek blurted, wincing at the audible whine he heard in his own voice, feeling like a petulant whelp. But he didn’t really care. He needed answers. Now.

“Dude, I just bid five thousand dollars for a date with you,” Stiles pointed out with a blank expression, gesturing at the door leading back to the large meeting room they had just left. With a roll of his eyes, he muttered under his breath, “Thought that’d make it pretty obvious.”

“It didn’t,” Derek answered with a huff, his tone a bit too hostile as Stiles arched an inquisitive brow at him as a dark scowl turned the corners of his lips down. Hurrying to clarify what he meant before he ended up ruining things even more than he already had, Derek quickly elaborated, “You said I looked uncomfortable. I thought that was the only reason you bid. I thought it was pity.”

“Well, it wasn’t,” Stiles asserted with a huff of his own, glancing away to stare at the tiled floor, his eyes absently scanning over the monochrome squares, tracing over imaginary patterns. He looked so dejected, so crestfallen that Derek couldn’t just stand idly by, instead throwing caution and any potential consequences to the wind and striding right over to Stiles who squeaked, “Dude, what the he―”

Derek cut him off by crashing their lips together, curling one arm around Stiles’ waist, fisting his hand in the back of his red hoodie, inadvertently rucking it up a bit to reveal a precious sliver of skin below Stiles’ navel. He cupped the back of Stiles’ neck with his other hand to guide him into the kiss, running the pad of his thumb over the thin ticklish skin behind Stiles’ left ear, tracing a collection of tiny moles.

Stiles absolutely melted into the kiss, his big brown eyes fluttering closed like some cliché as he went lax in Derek’s arms, raising his arms to loop them around Derek’s neck. He more than eagerly returned the enthusiastic kiss, tilting his head to the side to better accommodate Derek’s lips on his, sinking his fingers into Derek’s hair as he parted his lips to deepen the kiss.

Derek happily obliged, tightening his grip on Stiles as he gingerly slipped his tongue into Stiles’ mouth, worried that he might be coming on a bit too strong, worried that he might scare Stiles off. But all Stiles did was sigh against Derek’s lips and relax even more, lightly running his nails over Derek’s scalp with a delightful amount of pressure.

Pulling back from Stiles’ lips with an amused smile stretched across his face, his own bottom lip wet from Stiles’ ardent response, Derek took a step forward, holding Stiles tighter against his chest. Sparing a moment to peck Stiles on the lips, startling a breathless little laugh out of him, Derek quietly murmured, “So… Do you still want to go on that date?”

Stiles rolled his eyes as dramatically as possible, tugging Derek a few inches closer in order to bump their noses together, a soft smile playing on his lips as he whispered back, “Of course, I do.”