Chapter Text
The clock by Scott’s bed says it’s seven thirty-six in big, red numbers. Stiles wipes at his eyes with the palms of his hands and stares up at the ceiling for a few minutes, willing himself back to sleep. It’s been four days since school let out for summer, and his body is still conditioned to wake up at such an ungodly time. Doesn’t matter that they didn’t go to sleep until three this morning. He rolls over, stares at his best friend’s face which is less than three inches from his own. Scott snuffles in his sleep, and he’s got pillow creases on his cheek like it hasn’t been that long since he switched sides. His morning breath, hot and stale, is enough to get Stiles pouring himself out of bed and grabbing the first pair of sweats he finds.
Melissa, Scott’s mom, is off today so Stiles makes sure to be stealthy as possible when he pads downstairs to get a glass of water. His dad works crazy long hours sometimes and swing shifts too; Stiles has gotten pretty good at letting sleeping parents lie. Besides, maybe he’ll be able to grab a couple more hours of sleep before Scott gets all sunshine smiles on his ass and makes him do something annoying like shower before Melissa takes them Putt-Putting as promised. After he swallows down half a glass of tap water, he sneaks back upstairs.
When Stiles passes the bathroom, he notices the door is open and the light on, which means he isn't the only person already awake. In the mirror, Stiles catches the reflection of Scott’s brother, Derek. He’s bare-chested and shaving. It’s because Stiles is still kinda sleepy and it's so damn early that he just sort of stands there watching the disposable razor as Derek makes steady progress. Watery shaving cream slides down Derek’s throat after each stroke. He zones out, following a particularly thick dribble where it curves against Derek’s Adam’s apple.
He is suddenly shaken out of his reverie by Derek barking, “Go away, perv.” Derek has moved away from the mirror and has one hand on the door handle, still clutching his razor with the other. “It’s not a free show.”
Stiles rolls his eyes as the bathroom door is slammed shut in his face. Despite the closed door, he says, “I was just surprised by how pathetic you are—shaving the measly three hairs on your chin like you think you’re some kind of mountain man or something.”
“So sorry you haven’t hit puberty yet, Stiles.” Derek has wrenched open the door again, because he just has to get the last word in. “Maybe if you wish really hard, one day you’ll be a real boy.” He flicks the razor at Stiles, getting shaving cream and water on the hallway floor more than Stiles; still, it’s annoying.
He wipes at his chin and says, “why don’t you leave the witty retorts to the professionals, Derek, because you got no game.”
“ Guys ,” Melissa sighs from where she’s opened her bedroom door. “Can you please be quiet? I have another three hours before we are supposed to head out.” She looks over at Stiles. “Don’t provoke the teenager, Stiles.”
“Hey, I didn’t do anything!” He glares at the bathroom door which is shut again. He rolls his eyes and heads back to Scott’s room, pausing to apologize to Melissa for waking her.
“No problem, kiddo, just keep it down until eleven.” Melissa gives him a weary smile then closes her door, leaving Stiles to his lonesome.
Scott is still breathing heavily, twisted up in the sheets, when Stiles returns to bed. In his unconscious state, Scott shifts over to give Stiles just enough room to lie down comfortably.
“You got this, Melissa.” Stiles claps his hands and whoops in enthusiasm. “Give that windmill a beat down!”
“I thought golf was supposed to be a quiet sport.” Derek mutters from where he’s standing to the left, next to Scott.
“Good thing this is Putt-Putt, then,” Stiles bites the words out, enjoying the look of irritation on Derek’s face. “Stop being a jerk just because your mom forced you to spend a little quality family time.”
“You’re not family.” Derek growls. “ Thank, God .”
“Guys!” Scott and Melissa shout at the same time, in scarily similar voices. They both look a little frustrated but whatever.
“As far as you’re concerned, my sentiments, exactly.” Stiles twirls his club in his left hand and looks away because Derek is so not worth his time. He spots—“Oh my God.” He slaps Scott in the chest. “Oh my God, Scott .”
Scott grabs at Stiles’ hand, clamping it a little too tightly in his own before following Stiles’ gaze. “Hey, it’s Jackson and Lydia.”
“Yes!” Melissa jumps a little in her spot, swinging around to the boys. “Did you see—oh. Stiles, you’re supposed to be paying attention to me. You’re being a crappy date.”
Still staring at the top of Lydia’s tanned, toned legs where they are barely covered by a filmy skirt, Stiles asks, distracted, “So does that mean that Derek is Scott’s date, because that’s kinda skeevy.”
Derek whacks Stiles on the back of the head. “Gross. Stop being a stalker. A girl like that will never want someone like you.” They all watch as Jackson backs a coyly smiling Lydia against a fake cave. Their kiss is R-rated, with hands going all over the place. “She obviously likes guys with a little more experience.”
“It looks like he’s trying to eat her face.” Scott sounds disgusted and awed at the same time.
Stiles is feeling a little tight in the pants but takes a half step towards the first hole where the girl of his dreams is being orally screwed by Jackson’s revolting tongue. “I should go…help her. She can’t be enjoying that.”
“Oh,” Derek starts, way too close to Stiles’ ear, “I think she’s enjoying it just fine.” He blows on the sensitive skin behind Stiles’ jaw and chuckles when Stiles shivers. “So easy. You don’t stand a chance.”
“Hey, let’s get a move on.” Melissa tugs at Derek and Stiles’ shirts. “I don’t feel like explaining to the sheriff why I had to give his son the sex talk while we were Putt-Putting.” She shakes her head when she sees Lydia and Jackson. “They are way too young to be doing that.”
“Don’t you ever go home?” Derek looks resigned, tired, when he opens the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of Gatorade. He cracks the lid and gives Stiles a weak glare.
“Dude, I went home for like four days. I wouldn’t have,” Stiles digs into his pocket and pulls out a small silver cell phone, “this if I wasn’t home at some point. Dad gave it to me because he’s worried I’ll get myself into trouble.” He knows he sounds inordinately pleased with himself, and he doesn’t care.
Wiping at the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand, Derek says, “A cell phone, wow. Because I haven’t had one of those since I was twelve.”
He smells like sweaty jock, because he’s been running for fun or something. Derek’s been doing that and going to the gym like three times a week for the past couple of months. It’s weird, and Stiles doesn’t know why anyone would inflict that kind of punishment on themselves. He can admit though, silently and on pain of death, that Derek’s starting to look a lot less scrawny than Stiles remembers him being in January.
Back to the matter at hand though, he’s offended on his best friend’s behalf. “If you got yours at twelve, how come Scott doesn’t have one yet?”
Chomping on a tortilla chip he stole from the pile Stiles had just poured out, Derek says, “Because I had sports practices and away games when I was twelve. Besides, Scott hasn’t asked for one yet.”
When Derek goes to take another chip, Stiles bats his hand away and hunches protectively over the dish. He finishes pouring the shredded cheese on top and places the chips in the microwave. He pinches the dregs of cheddar cheese at the bottom of the bag, stuffing his fingers in his mouth while setting the timer for thirty seconds.
He turns back to Derek, swallowing. “Hey, give me your number.”
“Why would I do that?” Derek finishes off another third of the Gatorade, arching an eyebrow at Stiles.
“Because trouble ? I’m being smart here, dude. Give me your number so if we get in a bind, we can get you to come rescue us. Isn’t that what big brothers are supposed to do?” The microwave dings, and he takes the nachos out.
They glare at each other for a few drawn out seconds. The plate of nachos is burning Stiles’ fingertips, but he’s not going to lose this game by wussing out. Derek relents finally, letting out a frustrated sigh. Grabbing Stiles’ cell phone, he punches in a few numbers and hits ‘send.’
“There. Use it wisely. If you spam me with ridiculous text messages about like World of Warcraft or something, I’ll block your number.” He slams Stiles in the chest with his cell phone. “Yours and Scott’s hypothetical safety be damned.”
“Dude, what’s the holdup?” Scott rounds the corner into the kitchen. “Hey, Derek.”
Derek gives another pointed look to Stiles before giving Scott a friendly shoulder check, and heading to a douchebag convention, or maybe just to shower off. Stiles doesn’t care.
“Get the queso Scott. I’m about to get down and dirty with these nachos.”
The cheddar cheese is melted in tiny hilltops, unevenly dispersed. It’s Derek’s fault, but at least Melissa is an awesome person who actually goes grocery shopping. This can be salvaged. He snatches the jar of queso dip Scott holds out, pours half the jar on top. He finds the olives Melissa hides behind the eggs and only uses a quarter of the jar because Stiles isn’t always a jerk.
“What else…”
Scott digs in the back of the refrigerator, shoulder pressing into Stiles’, and pulls out a small container of sliced jalapenos. He grins slyly.
“You’re a masochist, Scott.” He pulls out a tub of sour cream. “If we’re doing that, then I get to have this, because I’m actually fond of my tongue unlike some people. ”
He realizes what he’s said just as Scott jokes, “That’s what she said.”
“Ugh, you didn’t even do it right!” Stiles rolls his eyes, still laughs when Scott cackles.
“ That’s what she said !”