Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Beta'd by WithinHerHeart :)

Chapter 2

As soon as Derek opened the bedroom door, Stiles began to babble.

"God, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to be late and then I didn't have anything to change into in the car – god, what your family must think of me? This is so embarrassing," he groaned, self pitying, as he roughly tugged his clip-on earrings off and slammed them on top of the chest of draws.

Derek didn't say anything at first, just leant back against the closed door, hands behind him, and watched the panicked freak out that, to be honest, the younger man was liable to do on an occasion. He had learnt that the best thing to do was to just let Stiles talk from a while. Eventually, he would stop, tired or thirsty or just running out of words to say, and it was then that Derek would approach, draw him in and assure him as was his duty as his partner.

Stiles wiggled out of his skirt and yanked his billowing t-shirt over the top of his head, leaving him standing in his tight batman boxer briefs, a frustrated look on his face. Derek look a moment to appreciate the view, before he stepped closer, nuzzling his head against the side of Stiles' head. The younger man breathed out heavily and laxed into his hold.

"I completely screwed this up, didn't I?" Stiles whispered.

"Of course not," Derek reassured, dropping a light kiss on the freckle spotted shoulder, "It'll just be…an interesting story to laugh about later on."

"I'm sure your parents are laughing about it now," Stiles corrected.

"Actually, Laura might be," he stated thoughtfully, although it might have been a tad insensitive if Stiles' moan of embarrassment had anything to say about it. Derek sighed, "Look Stiles, my family are going to love you. I mean, how could they not?"

"As sweet as that is, but you weren't exactly my biggest fan when we first met," Stiles pointed out, "I do believe I recall you using the words 'infuriating'."

"You are infuriating," Derek agreed, "But that's what I love about you. And in my defence, I just wanted my coffee. You were the one that couldn't stop talking."

"I'm an acquired taste," the man sniffed with mock-indigence.

"You spilt tea all over me, stole my shirt and then used it as a poly to get me to your apartment," Derek reminded.

Stiles turned in his hold, arms rising and sliding across his partner's broad shoulders. He grinned, amused. "I didn't hear you objecting when you had me pinned to Scott's bed."

"To be honest, I had bigger things to be focusing on," the man's lip twitched into a smirk at the reminder. "And don't change the subject," he chided gently, "Okay, so maybe it's not the first impression that we wanted to give, but that doesn't mean everything 'completely and totally ruined'. Just relax, get dressed, we have dinner reservations to keep."

Stiles squirmed in his seat, hands twisting the napkin nervously. God, he'd never felt so awkward in his life. And he was the one who ran naked across the lacrosse field because Scott had dared him to in his senior year of High School in front of the entire student body. Those stares and giggles had followed him around from months afterwards, and hadn't really disappeared, not even all these years later.

When he'd come down the stairs, dressed in his best and most expensive jeans, a white button up and the red blazer that Derek had brought him for his birthday their first year together, he'd smiled slightly and tried to be diplomatic as he apologised for being late and being so inappropriately dressed.

"I'm working as a fortune teller in the fair over the holidays, and one of my colleagues was having a baby so I had to take her shift," he said in way of explanation.

"At least someone has a sense of responsibility," Derek's mother had commented, an unimpressed look on her face.

Stiles' smile faltered slightly at the unexpected comment, and Quinn merely arched an eyebrow, seeming to ignore the hisses of warning from the family around her.

So now they sat in the Thai Blue, the most profitable Oriental food establishment in the little town that had become their home. Derek tried desperately to keep conversation, one way or another. Winston seemed just as eager, answering any and all questions aimed in his direction and, when things fell silent for just a little too long, he would pipe in with a question for Stiles that he would answer honestly and happily. Laura wasn't as involved – but Derek had told him in a whisper, his voice filled with mirth, that Laura rarely spoke when there was food on the table – but she did make a crude or humorous joke every once and a while.

"Did Derek tell you about the Foundation Incident of '88?" she inquired with a smirk.

Stiles perked up interestedly, which only increased when Derek let out a pleading groan. "No, I can't say he has. Do tell."

"Well, Derek was four at the time, and he had this habit of getting into places he really shouldn't," Laura began, leaning across the table to reach him.

"God, Laura, do we really have to-"Derek started to object, but Laura dismissed him with a sharp hush.

"Mom had brought this new make-up, seriously expensive stuff and she'd warn Abigail and I not to touch it, but she didn't think to warn Derek. We'd left him alone for five minutes and Mom found him dancing around her bathroom, face smothered in the stuff – the rest of it had been mushed into the carpet – this purple eyeshadow that made him look like someone had punched him repeatedly well, everywhere, and the reddest of red lipsticks."

"I should never have invited you," Derek glared darkly.

Stiles cackled, and leant towards his boyfriend's side. He pinched his cheek and cooed, "Awh, don't be like that sourpuss," he teased, "I think you'd be adorable covered in your war paint."

"I thought mom was going to kill him," Laura continued with a laugh, "But then he turned to her with those big puppy dog eyes, all excited and happy, and told her that he'd made 'pwetty'. She folded like a blanket. Mom always had a weakness for her baby boy, isn't that right Mom?" she nudged her silent mother.

"Hmm," was all Quinn responded with, her smile barely there and her expression one of indifference, as one might have as they tried to appease a child. Laura's smile slowly dropped from her face and she settled carefully back in her chair, focusing on fiddling with the remaining scraps of food across her marginally empty plate. Stiles went silent and dropped his gaze to his lap, and Derek frowned deeply. He and his father shared a long across the table.

"Your mother hates me!" Stiles declared from where he was laying spread eagle across their double bed.

Derek, who had been brushing his teeth in the bathroom, looked through the mirror to see his partner. "Of course she doesn't," he objected, although it sounded weak even to his own ears. He didn't want to believe his mother hated Stiles, not when she'd never hated anyone before, not when he loved the younger man so much, but what other choice was there? His mind struggled to find an answer to that question.

Stiles lifted his head up to give the man a ludicrous look. "Derek, the woman didn't speak the entire meal, and the only time she did was to make these little noises of hers – how does someone make such a simple hum sound that judgemental?"

Derek sighed heavily as he padded into the main room, climbing onto the end of the bed and shuffling on his knees into his side of the bed. Stiles' limbs curled inward to make space for him, and then rolled into his open hold, seeking comfort from the touch and nuzzling his face into the crook of his neck.

"Maybe she was just tired," Derek offered, "It's been a long day – the flight and then the dinner. It probably just made her crabby. It'll be better tomorrow, I'm sure."

Stiles wasn't as convinced, but he didn't say anything. He just breathed out heavily and leant into the touch even more, clinging to the wonderful smell of Derek's shower gel, and hoped, prayed, wished, that tomorrow would be better.