Chapter 2: Um, Derek?

The next morning Stiles found himself on the front porch of the dilapidated, fire-ravaged ruin that Derek called home. He wanted to run, but Derek must have heard his Jeep park up and would ask awkward questions next time they met when Scott would probably be with them. Too embarrassing for words! No, he could do this. He stood his ground and raised his hand to knock.

The door was wrenched open with force before his fist had connected with the wood and Stiles pitched forward, narrowly missing punching Derek in the chest. As he struggled to regain his footing and what little remained of his composure, Derek hitched an eyebrow expectantly.

"Oh, um, hi?" Stiles began self-consciously, staring at the charred floor.

"What?" It sounded more like a bark than a word and caused Stiles to glance up at the man at the threshold, half expecting him to have wolfed out.

"Um, see, I, um, I wanted to, um…"

"No words, Stiles? Are you sick or something?" Derek asked with zero concern.

"Sick? No. Um, yeah, I guess. But no," Stiles could feel panic rising and then panicked some more at the thought.

"Either you are sick, or you aren't. You're not making sense. Less than usual." Derek stood in the middle of the open doorway looking menacing and, at least to Stiles, bone-jumpingly hot. Either could be responsible for Stiles' ratcheting blood pressure.

"Why are you here?" Derek asked, his scowl factor increasing in proportion to Stiles' anxiety.

"I, um, I need to talk. With you. I need to talk with you," Stiles tried.

"So? Talk."

"Yeah, um … inside?" It wasn't so much for privacy, the house was way off the beaten track after all, but Stiles really felt the need to sit down right about now.

Derek seemed to consider for a moment, then stepped aside and raised an eyebrow which may have been a non-verbal invitation. A sort of eyebrow 'mi casa es su casa'. Or something.

Stiles managed to make his way to the main room without tripping over anything (or nothing) and without succumbing to a full-blown panic attack. He counted that as a check in the plus column.

Derek followed, giving him a look to rival Grumpy Cat, as Stiles dropped down onto the ratty couch.

"Sorry, man, but I needed to sit down," Stiles mumbled, glaring at the floor.

"So you are ill?" Derek queried, sniffing the air unsubtly. "You don't smell ill. Although your breathing is shallow and your pulse is racing. Is it the flu?"

"Flu? What? No. No, I'm not ill. I don't have the flu or anything else."

Derek just looked at him with undisguised disbelief.

"Look, Derek, I came over today, not because I'm ill, because where would the sense be in that? I mean, you're not a doctor. You're not, are you? No, of course not. No, if I was ill, I'd go to see Scott's mom. She's a nurse at Beacon Hills Memorial. Oh, but you know that, right? So…"

"Stiles! The point? Assuming there is one."

"Yeah, um, the point. Well, I…" his eyes flickered up to the werewolf, then back down to the floor. "This was so much easier when I imagined you weren't here."

"Is it drugs? Christ, Stiles, what have you taken?"

Stiles looked up sharply then because Derek sounded … concerned?

"Wha…? No, not drugs. Holy god, why would you even think that?"

"Is it your medication? You took too much, didn't you? I can smell it."

Again with the concern. No, Stiles was sure he was reading this all wrong. Reading Derek all wrong. He was on the point of hyperventilating and it was obviously screwing with his reasoning faculties. He needed to focus, say what he came to say and get the hell out of Dodge.

"I did take a second dose of Adderall today, that's true. I don't usually on a Saturday but I knew I was coming here so I needed to stay focused." He extended a finger and traced a pattern in the upholstery next to him.

"This is you focused?" Derek asked, but he sounded bewildered more than judgemental.

"Well, more so than most weekends, yeah," Stiles shrugged.

"Why? Why come here? And since when do you need to take extra medication to come here?" Derek stepped closer until he was standing just a pace in front of Stiles.

The teen sighed and slumped forward, resting his hands on his knees, starring at Derek's scuffed black trainers.

"Derek, I need to tell you something and I need you not to freak or tear my throat out with your teeth. Okay?"

"What did you do?" Derek's tone mixed disappointment with resignation.

"Nothing! Look, just listen, okay?" Stiles retorted petulantly, "This isn't easy for me. I'll say my piece and then you never have to see me again. I'll tell Scott I'm frightened of you and that I have to keep away from all this wolfie business. He'll probably hear the lie but, well, okay, maybe he won't because Scott isn't the sharpest pencil in the case, so… Not that I don't love him like a brother, because I do, but… Anyway, whatever. After I've explained I won't bother you further. You won't have to see me again."

"What are you babbling about? Why won't I see you again and why are you lying to Scott?"

"Band-Aid!" Stiles said suddenly.

"What?"

"You know when you've got to remove a Band-Aid, right? The best way is to rip it off real quick?"

"Stiles? Wha…?"

"No, hear me out, Derek," the teen straightened and looked up into the confused face of the man standing in front of him. "I came here to tell you something and it's scary as hell. It's gonna hurt because I don't wanna say this and you won't wanna hear this, and then you won't wanna hear from me ever again, so that will hurt. Hence: Band-Aid. So, working on the Band-Aid principle, I'm just gonna come right out and say it."

"And yet here I am, still waiting for some sort of clue as to why you're here and why you need extra medication and why you think I won't want to…"

"I like you, alright! Like, like. You. Derek Hale. I like you. Me, Stiles Stilinski. Like you, Derek. And I know you're not into guys, and I know I'm not a werewolf, and I know this is freaking you out and you hate me now but…"

"I don't. Hate you. I don't."

Stiles' brow furrowed as he stared up trying to interpret the pinched face looking back at him. This wasn't going as he had planned and he couldn't quite get his bearings. He decided to press the 'reset' button and start again.

"You see, I'm well aware that I'm just a pale-skinned, skinny kid with ADHD, who irritates the hell out of everyone by talking too much. I know that, okay? You don't have to spell it out for me.

"And I know this is inappropriate, on so many levels, you know, our age difference, your sexual orientation, my lack of lycanthropic attributes, and so forth.

"So I understand why you now have to tell me to never darken your door again, and believe me, I've no wish to revisit this humiliation. Trust me, I'll keep out of your way. Nope, I certainly won't bother you again, you have my word, and …"

"Wait, what if I want you to bother me?" Derek's voice was hushed.

"Oh. Okay, well, if you need any research done or whatever, you can text me or, no, preferably get Scott to…"

"No. Not for research. What if… What if I wanted to…to just see you?"

"Yeah, well, um, I'd have a bit of a problem there, big guy. Don't think I'm strong enough to, you know, see you for research and stuff, but not be able to, um, see you. You know, on a non-researchy basis. So, I'm thinking cold turkey, abstinence, pretending you moved away from Beacon Hills, cold showers may be in my future…"

"But you want to see me? Not for research?" Derek's tone was as neutral as the blank expression on his face.

Stiles could just feel the condemnation rolling off the guy. This was so much worse than he'd thought it would be and he so needed this to be over. He took a steadying breath.

"Well, yeah. Didn't you hear the bit where I said I liked you? As in like, like? But it's okay. I get that you don't like me back. You know, like like me, or even like me. I'm cool with that. Well, no, I'm not, but I kinda of expected it so…"

"Stiles, you're an idiot!"

"Yeah, it's been said. And duly noted. I'll go." He got up, shifting his eyes to Derek's feet, fully expecting them to move backwards to give him room as he stood. They didn't.

"And if I don't want you to go?" Derek mumbled, and he was close enough that his breath was hot on Stiles' cheek.

"My dad knows I'm here. Kidnapping is a serious felony."

"What?"

"Look, I get this has probably grossed you out and you're probably really angry now and your wolf probably wants to go all 'grrr' and shred something, but you can't go round kidnapping innocent – and, oh, that's a bad choice of word – go round kidnapping blameless – mostly – teens who have just confessed to having unreciprocated feelings for you and …"

"Who says?"

Stiles blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Everyone knows kidnapping is wrong. What even?"

Derek huffed and shook his head, "No. Who said your feelings were unreciprocated?"

"Wha?" Stiles wondered why a draughty old ruin suddenly felt so hot and stuffy. He couldn't make sense of it.

A smile ghosted across Derek's face. "Stiles, you're ridiculous!"

"Okay, yep, got the IM on that. Hell, the 'Stiles is ridiculous' video has probably gone viral," Stiles complained, physically aching with his desire to start running and never stop.

Derek's expression was unreadable again as he murmured, "I'll ask you again: who said your feelings were unreciprocated?"

Stiles made a mental note to check the Adderall later for cognitive impairment side-effects because he was rapidly losing the plot here.

"Um, everyone? You know, the nerdy, pale, skinny, irritating ADHD guy never gets the super-hot hero. It's kind of like a fact of nature. Like gravity or Pie R squared. And you don't even like me. Period."

"Don't I?" Derek smirked, looking almost predatory. "You're wrong, you know. You're smart, not nerdy. I like smart. I happen to like alabaster skin. And I don't see 'skinny', I see lean. Lithe. You do talk too much but sometimes that's, mmm…, comforting. Endearing too, maybe.

"The ADHD isn't your fault. You might grow out of it. Or not. It's not relevant, except that I can appreciate the effort you put into minimising its effects. I think that's admirable. You're admirable.

"Then, there was age, you said?" Derek was that close that he only needed to whisper, "Not really a concern of mine, well, after your next birthday anyway. My orientation? Not an issue. Bi, for the record. But yours? Lydia?" Derek's eyebrows travelled north, presumably looking for an answer.

"Um, what?" Stiles swallowed. "Lydia? Um, habit I guess. But only ever Lydia. I think when I was younger she was a good cover for where my, um, interests really lay. Guys." Stiles shrugged, feeling his cheeks burning red. He wiped his palms surreptitiously on his jeans as he tried to work out what was happening.

"So, you're gay. Good to know," Derek murmured, piercing green eyes holding Stiles' gaze. "Then you mentioned you not being a werewolf. Do you really think that matters to me?"

"It doesn't?" Stiles asked, and even to his ears his voice had a squeaky quality to it.

"No, I like that you're human," Derek hummed softly, "I like your strength and your intellect. You have the bearing and courage of a wolf even though you don't have our physical abilities. And you constantly challenge me. I find that, um, enticing. Attractive. I find you attractive."

"You do?" Yep, definitely a squeak there.

"I do," Derek nodded slowly, shifting his gaze from Stiles' eyes to his lips.

"Oh my god, you do!"

Stiles instinctively angled forward and suddenly Derek's lips were on his, hands on the teen's waist, pulling Stiles to him.

As Stiles parted his lips to give Derek entry, he slipped his arms around Derek's neck, the fingers of one hand moving up to card through soft hair tentatively.

His stomach lurched and he felt light-headed. But he had never felt better: Derek Hale was kissing him.

A/N: Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoyed it. :-)