#sbtopbottom

It should have been the best morning-after ever; beautifully sore, satisfied, sexed-out. Instead, Stiles felt as though there was a leaden lump in his stomach.

Why had Derek just left like that? Why hadn’t he so much as said goodbye, thanks for the sex? Was it Stiles? The night had been fucking sensational; it didn’t make any sense.

Erica, when she awoke, felt similarly hurt.

“Fuck him,” she said forcefully. “Don’t let him make you feel like crap, Stiles, that was epic. Don’t let him take that away from you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles said. “I just…” He trailed off. It was ridiculous to say that he liked Derek, that he’d been hoping to see him again; after all, they hadn’t set any parameters for communication outside of that single night. But he’d felt something so… electric with Derek, and he’d been so sure that Derek had felt it too.

It was different for Erica. She’d enjoyed herself, had awesome sex, sure. But she wasn’t in love with Stiles, and she wasn’t in love with Derek. Whereas Stiles…

Fuck. People don’t fall in love after one night together. Stiles decided that he wasn’t going to think about it anymore. He was just going to get on with his life.

So nine days later, he’s sitting in the coffee shop, drinking some concoction of sugar and cream and chocolate sprinkles, and ignoring his brownie as per usual. His current client is being particularly difficult about an Archaic Latin translation that Stiles provided, which is ridiculous, because he outsourced it to Lydia and Lydia doesn’t make mistakes. He’s right in the middle of composing a polite yet firm email to the client explaining as much, when the door of the coffee shop opens, and Derek walks in.

By now, Stiles has stopped looking up every time the door opens, and his heart barely jumps when he hears somebody coming in. It’s been nine days; Derek has made it pretty clear that he’s not coming back, and Stiles – Stiles isn’t here to see him, okay?

When he told Erica that, she snorted. “If you want to see him so much, go and visit his shop,” she said. “It’s not far.”

“No,” Stiles said obstinately. “If he wanted to see me, he would.”

Erica sighed, her mouth tightening. Stiles knew that she was pissed about the way Derek had disappeared on them; she felt it was bad sex etiquette, and she would know. “Okay,” she said, which was probably the closest Stiles was going to get to agreement from her.

No, Stiles was not going to go and see Derek at his shop. Okay, maybe a small part of him was hoping that Derek would come back to the coffee shop Monday morning, that there would be some explanation, some reason… but by the time Wednesday rolled around, Stiles had stopped hoping. Derek was an ass, but he wasn’t an ass who was going to drive Stiles away from his favourite coffee shop.

So, of course, it’s exactly at the point that he’s stopped waiting to see Derek that Derek actually arrives.

Stiles only sees him because he happens to be looking up when the door opens. For a moment, Derek just stands in the doorway, eyes locked on Stiles’, brows flat and mouth slightly open. Then Stiles forces his eyes back to the screen of his laptop, because he’s not going to give Derek the satisfaction of knowing what an effect he’s having.

Stiles’ knees are trembling, and his breath is coming in short, hard pants. “Dick,” he mutters fiercely under his breath, because that’s what Derek is, amazing sex or no. He is not going to have a panic attack over such an asshole.

Derek orders his usual, and goes to sit at his normal table with his paper. It’s as though nothing has happened between them at all, as if they’re back to the time when Derek was Hot Dude, some nameless guy that Stiles had a crush on, and it pisses him off.

Why should Derek just get to walk in here like nothing happened? Like he didn’t leave in the middle of the night like a fucking thief? Why should he get to stamp all over Stiles’ heart like it doesn’t matter?

Okay, yeah, he’ll admit it: he’d been hoping that that night might be the start of something. Maybe having a threesome isn’t the most conventional way to start a relationship, but Stiles has never been the most conventional guy in the world. And Derek had been so fucking up for it! He’d seen it was Stiles, and he’d come anyway. Like he wanted him.

Maybe he’d just wanted to torture the irritating guy who always started up weird conversations in the coffee shop. Maybe he’s a one-night-stand kind of guy. Maybe he’s been laughing at Stiles the whole time.

Whatever the truth, it’s not fucking right, and Stiles is so done.

So fucking done.

He stands up shakily, his chair scraping loudly across the floor. Derek lifts his head, a slightly wary expression on his face, like he’s not sure what Stiles is doing.

Well, good. He should be wary.

Stiles sucks in a breath, because he’s not going to fuck this up by crying or having a panic attack all over it, and marches over to Derek’s table.

“Hey,” he says loudly.

Derek lowers his paper. “Hi,” he says guardedly.

Stiles scoffs. “Oh, so you do know how to speak, huh?” he says. “Because, you know, the way you snuck off in the dead of night would suggest otherwise.”

“Um,” Derek says, his cheeks filling with colour. His eyes flicker from left to right; Stiles is speaking extremely loudly, and a few people are looking curiously towards them.

Stiles, however, doesn’t give a shit. “You know, dude, I don’t know what your deal is,” he says. “But fucking off after sex is not cool. If you didn’t want to see me again, fine.” It’s not, but Derek doesn’t have to know that. “You don’t have to run away. It’s bad etiquette,” he finishes, remembering what Erica said.

Derek is frowning at him, looking a little puzzled. “What?” he says.

“Don’t,” Stiles says firmly, holding up a hand. “Do not even pretend. You just fucking left. You didn’t say goodbye. Who does that?”

“I—” Derek says. He bites his lip. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, you should be,” Stiles says, his voice sounding as defeated as he feels. “I actually fucking liked you.”

Then he turns and walks back to his table. He doesn’t know if Derek watches him go; as soon as he sits down, he glues his eyes to his laptop, determined that he’s not going to look over to Derek’s table again.

When he finally does give into temptation, Derek is gone.

♂

When he calls Erica to tell her about Derek, she has other news, and he can’t bring himself to burden her with his crap. She’s already had to put up with him moping over Derek for nine days, after all.

“Boyd asked me out!” she tells him excitedly over the phone, and despite his weary loneliness, Stiles finds a smile for her; she’s been waiting for this for so long.

“Oh my God, dude takes his time,” he says, because come on, it’s him.

He can hear Erica’s smile. “Shut up,” she says. She hesitates. “He said he was intimidated by me,” she says wonderingly. “He thought I wouldn’t say yes.”

“Called it,” Stiles says immediately. He laughs. “Seriously, Erica, I’m really happy for you. Even if Boyd is a fucking idiot.”

“Trust me, I’ve already told him,” Erica says. “Oh, God, Stiles, I’m such a fucking sap, but I’m so happy. He’s, like…” She trails off, obviously unable to quite describe what Boyd means to her, but Stiles thinks he gets it.

He was beginning to look at Derek that way. Which makes him an idiot. But that doesn’t stop it from being true.

♂

Stiles kind of figures that Derek won’t come back to the coffee shop the following day, having been soundly told off in front of all the patrons the day before. After he’d left, a couple of people had actually come over to tell Stiles that they thought he was brave, which was admittedly kind of nice. He figures that with crowd opinion so against him, Derek will stay well away.

He’s wrong. Derek comes in the next day as though nothing has gone amiss, although he surely can’t miss the narrowed eyes several of the regulars direct at him. Stiles, as irritating as he knows himself to be, is generally well-liked in the coffee shop; his former advances on Derek had been viewed with good humour, and his tendency to give whoever happens to be sitting nearest his abandoned brownie right before he leaves has won him friends.

Derek doesn’t look in Stiles’ direction, and Stiles very determinedly keeps his head down. This results in an extremely productive morning’s work, although inside Stiles feels as though his heart is breaking in half. Which is way too dramatic for a Tuesday morning.

After half an hour, Derek folds up his newspaper and leaves. An elderly woman sitting at a nearby table leans over and pats Stiles on the arm.

“Don’t worry, dear,” she says sympathetically. “It’ll get better.”

Stiles smiles woodenly at her, and makes sure that she gets his brownie when he leaves. When he gets home, he sits in the shower for an hour and a half, struggling to breathe, his chest burning and his eyes streaming.

Part of him wishes he and Derek had never had sex in the first place, which is probably the healthiest headspace he could be in right now, all things considered.

The other part of him, unhealthy and desperately romantic, just wishes Derek had so much as looked at him in the coffee shop that morning.

⚤

He lasts six days before he tells Erica.

“You talked to him?” she says, surprisingly sympathetic. It’s early Monday morning, and after nearly a week of being completely ignored by Derek every day, Stiles hadn’t been able to face going to the coffee shop. He’d headed to Erica’s instead, joining her and Boyd for a cooked breakfast.

Boyd is washing up the dishes like the champion he is, so Erica and Stiles are sat at the kitchen table while he explains the situation to her. Erica has about six hickeys on her neck and chest, and she’s wearing Boyd’s shirt with the sleeves rolled up so you can see the red rope burns on her wrists. Whatever his insecurities, Boyd is clearly able to keep up with her in the kink department.

Stiles is glad. He’s not sure they would have worked otherwise; Erica is extremely kinky.

He shrugs at Erica’s question. “I guess I figured he’d say something. Explain himself, or whatever.” He smiles weakly. “Pretty stupid, right?”

“Fucking dick,” Erica says fiercely, because she’s fucking awesome. “God. What time is it?”

Boyd looks at his watch. “Almost nine,” he says calmly. Everything Boyd does tends to be calm.

“I want to go and give him a talk of my own,” Erica says. “Who does he think he is? He’s been fucking torturing you for months—”

Boyd dries his hands, coming to sit with them. “I thought you only slept with him a couple of weeks ago,” he says.

“I knew him before,” Stiles explains. “We used to see each other in the coffee shop.”

Erica huffs angrily. “He led you on,” she declares, even though Stiles isn’t sure how true that is, “and I’m not having it.”

“Okay,” Boyd says, nodding. He really is completely awesome. “I’ll drive.”

Stiles seriously has some of the best friends. He still feels kind of shaky at the thought of seeing Derek; he’s had a few more panic attacks since that first one a week ago, just remembering the feel of Derek’s large hands gripping his wrists, the slide of his fingers down Stiles’ back, the hot wet touch of his tongue in Stiles’ ass…

It’s fucking torture. And maybe Erica giving him a verbal shakedown is exactly what Stiles needs to move on.

Derek never even kissed him.

Erica sits in the back of the car with him, holding Stiles’ hand. She must be able to feel how hard his heart is beating, but she doesn’t say anything about it. Boyd turns the radio on, and Erica sings along to One Direction as they drive into town.

When they get there, Boyd stops directly outside the coffee shop. “I’ll park,” he says.

“Thanks, baby,” Erica says happily. She leans into the front seat to kiss him, which is kind of gross, but also sweet. The thing with Erica is she’s totally volatile, and totally all over the place, so Boyd’s brand of steadiness is kind of fucking perfect for her.

Stiles makes himself stop thinking before he starts straying into ideas about how perfect he and Derek would be together, because clearly a guy who can ignore him as thoroughly as Derek has been doing for the past few days isn’t perfect for anyone.

Derek is already in the coffee shop, sitting at his usual table with his back to the door, which makes sense; Stiles is usually here much earlier than this. For a moment, Stiles just looks at his back, his head bowed over his paper, and his hand tightens around Erica’s wrist.

“Erica,” he mutters. “I can’t do this.”

She lifts her chin. “You don’t have to,” she says calmly. “I am.”

Her voice is carrying, and slowly – as though he’s uncertain of what he’s heard – Derek lift his head, turning around. When he sees Erica and Stiles, he actually flinches.

Erica raises her eyebrows, marching over with all of the spirit and none of the nerves as Stiles had nearly a week ago. Stiles follows more slowly, all too aware of the potential for violence that Erica’s about to unleash. Erica is an excellent friend, but she’s not the sort of person you want to cross.

“Hello,” Derek says warily.

“You remember me, then?” Erica says crisply, and that’s when Stiles remembers that it’s not just him that Derek walked out on. It may not affect Erica in quite the same way, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t left her vulnerable.

Derek sighs like he knows what’s coming. “Look, I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Shouldn’t have what?” Erica demands. She wheels around to gesture at Stiles. “Look at him!”

Stiles folds his arms awkwardly and tries to look anywhere other than at Derek and Erica. Unfortunately, that puts him in the line of sight of several extremely interested regulars, many of whom wink at him.

He can’t help but notice that Derek, upon Erica’s instruction, is looking at him intently. He lifts his eyes, meeting Derek’s, and against all instinct, a throb of desire pulses through him. Stiles feels a lump rising in his throat.

Erica is jabbing a finger in Derek’s chest. “You did that,” she says fiercely. “You led him on. It’s not okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek says, sounding pained. “I’m really sorry.”

“I don’t believe you,” Erica says in a tone of finality. She turns around, her blonde hair tossing over her shoulder. “Stiles, where’s your usual table?”

Stiles points silently. Erica regards it with narrowed eyes. “I want a cappuccino,” she says to Derek. “You almost certainly know what Stiles likes to drink.” She leans in dangerously close. “You owe us, and I think this is the least you can do, don’t you?”

“Um,” Derek says, looking alarmed. “Okay.”

“Oh, and an orange juice,” Erica adds, because Boyd is a freak who doesn’t drink tea or coffee. Then she flounces off perfectly to the empty table, her hair streaming behind her. Several of the regulars applaud. Derek glowers as he heads over to the counter.

Stiles slinks after her and sits down.

“God, I’m so pissed off,” Erica says bluntly. “I don’t think I realised it before.”

Stiles looks over at Derek. “I think you told him,” he says quietly. Behind the counter, the normally cheery redhead is serving Derek with a mutinous expression on her face. Stiles hadn’t realised quite how much they like him here, but then he supposes that’s what happens when you come to the same coffee shop every day.

“Looks like they were all rooting for the two of you,” Erica says airily, following the line of his gaze. “Derek’s an asshole.”

“I know,” Stiles says unhappily.

Derek may be an asshole, but he’s an asshole who delivers free coffee, so Stiles thinks he can forgive him just a little. The real pang comes when he takes the brownie off the tray and sets it in front of Stiles, because Erica didn’t ask him to buy a brownie. That’s just not fucking fair.

Stiles looks up at him. “You’re doing it again,” he says quietly.

Derek swallows and looks away. “Sorry,” he says, and retreats to his own table.

Fortunately for everyone, and in particular Erica’s blood pressure, Boyd comes into the coffee shop at that point; Erica waves him over, and Stiles prepares to be distracted. He has his laptop; with his friends at his side, he might actually be able to get some work done. He refuses to be kicked out of his favourite place just because Derek’s an ass who won’t leave, but Erica’s awesomeness means that he feels like he has a bit of safety net.

Fuck. Derek is running a hand through his hair. Stiles’ jeans suddenly feel tight.

Erica pushes the orange juice across the table to Boyd; Derek’s gaze flickers over, and then quickly back down to his newspaper. Stiles swallows. Maybe they’re intimidating him; a small, petty part of him kind of hopes so.

Boyd wraps an arm around Erica’s shoulder, kissing her on the temple. She leans her head on his shoulder. “I told him off,” she says drowsily.

“You were amazing,” Stiles says warmly, because it’s true.

Boyd leans down to kiss her. “I’m sure you were, baby,” he says soothingly.

There’s an almighty crash from behind them as Derek stands up so quickly that his chair falls over, his newspaper held so tightly in his hands that it’s tearing between his shaking fingers.

Erica and Boyd turn around, staring; Stiles, from his position, has the perfect view. Derek’s mouth is slightly open, and he’s trembling.

He’s also looking straight at Stiles.

“Derek?” Stiles says cautiously.

Derek’s eyes are moving frantically between him, Erica and Boyd. “You—” he begins, and then stops.

Stiles frowns. Derek takes a step forward. Stiles stands up, moving warily around the table. “Okay, dude, I don’t like you much right now, but you’re freaking me out,” he says. His heart is thudding painfully in his chest for some stupid fucking reason. “What’s the matter?”

Derek drops his newspaper. His hand flaps vaguely toward Erica and Boyd. “They’re – they’re together,” he says, his voice stilted and awkward.

“Um,” Stiles says, turning around to look at Erica. She looks just as mystified as he feels. He turns back to Derek. “Yes?”

“I—” Derek stops and clears his throat. “I thought… you two—”

“Wait a fucking second,” Erica says loudly, and a nearby middle-aged woman – hanging onto Derek’s every word, the same way the entire fucking coffee shop is – gasps audibly. Erica turns on her irritably. “As if this isn’t better than fucking Days Of Our Lives,” she scoffs. She looks back at Derek, her head tilted to one side. “Did you think Stiles and I were together?”

You could hear a pin drop in the place.

Derek looks absolutely stricken. He jerks his head in a single nod.

“You fucking moron,” Erica says.

“You… you’re single?” Derek whispers. He sounds horrified.

Stiles’ mouth is hanging open of its own accord. “Yeah,” he croaks.

“Fuck,” Derek hisses.

⚣

Stiles feels kind of like he’s doing the ice bucket challenge again, and that had been no picnic the first time around. He’s frozen with shock, unable to do anything except just stare at Derek.

“Are you saying that you… that you ran off because you thought—” He stops abruptly, because even now remembering how it had felt to wake up to an empty bed – well, apart from Erica, but she didn’t count – is painful.

Derek bites his lip. “I’m so sorry,” he says, and this time he sounds like he really, really fucking means it. “I’m so, so fucking sorry. I – I hated leaving. I didn’t want to.”

“Why didn’t you just ask?” Stiles bursts out, because seriously? This whole thing could have been avoided if Derek had just opened his fucking mouth.

Derek looks down at his feet. “I’m not very good at asking,” he mumbles.

“No shit,” Erica says sarcastically. Boyd puts a calming hand on her shoulder, and she subsides.

Stiles sighs. “You are a moron,” he says. He drops his head, rubbing his eyes. “Fuck. Why didn’t you say something? I’ve been here every fucking day!”

“I thought…” Derek swallows. “I thought you were mad because I’d got between you and… Erica.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what you get for assuming shit,” Stiles says bitterly. “Meanwhile I’ve been here, head over fucking heels like an idiot, and you’ve just been sitting there with your stupid fucking newspaper…”

Derek takes a single step forward. There’s something warm in his eyes that Stiles doesn’t understand, but nevertheless it makes his heart feel like it’s beating double-time. “Did you say head over heels?” Derek asks softly.

Stiles considers, very briefly, throwing Erica’s cappuccino at him. “Please, please tell me that that’s not new information,” he says. “Literally everyone in this fucking café knows that I’m stupidly gone for you.”

“That’s true,” the elderly lady who spoke to Stiles before pipes up, nodding enthusiastically. Apparently the other patrons of the coffee shop aren’t even pretending not to be avidly listening to the unfolding drama.

“Oh,” Derek says, and kisses him.

For a few moments, everything around them just falls away, because in all of Stiles’ life there have been no kisses like this.

It’s hot, and tender, with Derek’s hands cupping his face, and Derek’s mouth soft and warm against his own, his dark stubble scratching across Stiles’ cheeks. He can feel Derek’s fingers sliding up the back of his neck, nails running into his hairline, thumbs pressing against his jaw, and he just sighs into the kiss, falls into it, lets it take over his entire fucking world until there’s nothing left except Derek, Derek’s hands, Derek’s mouth, Derek’s tongue…

Slowly, reluctantly, Stiles pulls away. Derek is still holding his face, and there’s something desperate and painfully hopeful in his eyes.

“I’m still mad at you,” Stiles says.

“I know,” Derek says. “I’m sorry.” He kisses Stiles again, just the briefest ghost of his lips on Stiles’. “I don’t… have a lot of experience with this,” he says, very quietly.

Stiles frowns. “With what? Guys?”

“Anyone,” Derek says. “People don’t… like me.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” the elderly lady says warmly. “You’re not so bad!”

The girl behind the counter flaps her hands. “Shh!” she says. “Don’t interrupt!”

Stiles ignores them both. “God knows why,” he says slowly, “but I like you.”

Derek smiles, and it’s brilliant. “I like you too,” he says.

“I don’t like you,” Erica says clearly. Derek looks over Stiles’ shoulder, frowning in consternation. She folds her arms across his chest. “You’re going to have to treat Stiles properly for a long time before I like you. And buy me cheesecake.” She glares at him. “Lots of cheesecake.”

“Erica has a thing about cheesecake,” Stiles explains.

“Alright,” Derek says seriously. He turns back to Stiles. And hesitates.

It takes about a split second for Stiles to decide that, yes, he forgives Derek enough to kiss him again. It seems to be pretty fucking clear that the dude has Issues, but then, so does Stiles, and quite frankly, he doesn’t give a shit.

“Stiles?” Derek says.

Stiles pulls back breathlessly. “Yeah?”

“Um,” Derek says, looking around. “Can we—?”

He has a point; the entire coffee shop is still watching them avidly. Stiles shakes his head, grinning because fuck it, he can. “Yeah,” he says.

A round of searing applause, and Erica’s raucous laughter, follow them out of the coffee shop and onto the street. The sun is shining, and Stiles looks into Derek’s warm delighted face, and thinks, yeah.

This is it.