Chapter Text
Sometimes, Derek thinks about fucking guys. It’s not all the time, it’s barely even some of the time, but every now and again, yes, he thinks about it.
He’s thinking about it now, as he watches Stiles flee the second floor, his hair all ruffled and his lips all swollen. He’s watching and he’s trying not to because Stiles looks upset, but he can’t stop thinking about how easily Cam was pressing him against the wall, holding him up.
He doesn’t go after him, though. He watches him leave and he feels like he should, but Isaac is back a second later with an annoyed look on his face.
“I need to put a lock on my door or something,” he says. “Come on.”
Derek follows him into the room, sits on the beanbag chair in the corner as Isaac roots around in the closet.
“That was the guy,” he hears himself say.
Isaac looks back, “huh?”
“The one with Cam, that was the guy who’s been tutoring me.”
“Oh, well,” Isaac shrugs, he pulls out what he was looking for, offers Derek the bag.
“I didn’t know he was gay.”
Isaac raises his eyebrows, takes an edible for himself once Derek hands the bag back.
“What?” Derek asks.
“Nothing, just, I mean, not to generalize and shit but that was literally like the twinkiest looking guy I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“Huh?” Derek hadn’t really spent too long analyzing Stiles’ level of twinkiness, because he’d just assumed from the beginning he was straight.
“Yeah, like I think he has nipple piercings.”
“Huh?” Derek repeats, even more shocked. “Why do you think that?”
“Just from when he smoothed down his shirt, you know.” Isaac makes a smoothing motion over his shirt to demonstrate how the tautness of it accentuates his nipples and then he leans back on the bed. “Does it bother you?”
“The nipple piercings?”
“No. That he’s gay?”
“Oh, no. It just caught me off guard.”
“Well,” Isaac says, about as interested in this line of conversation as he is in shit. “I met someone. A woman, who’s not gay.”
“Nice.” Derek sits back. He listens to Isaac yammer on about this new woman, but his mind keeps replaying ever interaction he’s had with Stiles, looking for clues.
Well, he guesses the big tipoff was that he lives with his best friend’s hot girlfriend. And then there was that hot tutor girl, too, that he didn’t even look twice at. And Derek implied Stiles was jealous of him because he was going to sleep with her…wow he’s an idiot. How did he not see this sooner? Was he out in high school, too? Derek feels like he would have remembered Stiles if he was. Well, remembered him as more than a vague concept somewhere on the edge of his peripheral. He feels like he heard a bunch of shit about the Stilinskis when he got to Beacon Hills, but then there was the fire and Derek pretty much checked out after that. Checked out of life, almost.
“Are you even listening to me man, or are you daydreaming about your English tutor still?” Isaac asks, tossing a pillow lazily toward Derek.
“I’m not daydreaming about him,” Derek snaps back, fast, “I just can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner.”
“Well,” Isaac says, he looks kind of wary. “You know, I have queer friends, so, I hope it’s not like a problem—”
“I’m not fucking homophobic just because I’m straight, why does everyone assume that? I’m just surprised but it’s out of my mind, now. Stiles is gay, okay. The end. I don’t really care.”
“Alright, excuse me for asking. It’s not like your sport has a history of being super accepting, I guess.”
“Can we stop talking about this? Why don’t you tell me more about this girl you like?”
He doesn’t sleep with anyone that night, though he gets lots of offers. He’s in a weird mood. Kind of pissed although it’s not directed at anyone specific. Isaac got mad at him for being rude and left him like ten minutes after their discussion of Stiles’ potential nipple piercings and then he went downstairs and every time someone talked to him, he felt kind of like strangling them. He sees that guy, Cam, making out with someone and he sneaks closer to see who it is, but it’s just some random girl he doesn’t recognize. He heads out after that.
He walks home, because it’s only a mile and he needs the exercise. The air of the evening is warm and a little wet, but there’s a breeze that helps him keep from getting too sweaty. He wonders if Stiles is at home right now, in his weird little apartment full of knick-knacks and weird paintings. He wonders if he’s reading or sleeping or getting ahead on his schoolwork again.
Boyd is home, in the living room with Erica when he gets there. They look up from the couch where they’re sitting and watching Prison Break, and wave.
“Hey,” he says. He steps up to the couch behind them and watches some guy get his toe cut off by an angry prisoner. Eventually, he asks, “do you guys remember a Stiles Stilinski from high school?”
Erica looks up, her face a frown. “No, should I?”
“He was the Sheriff’s kid, I guess.” He looks at Boyd, whose expression is reserved. “Do you?”
“A little,” he says, stiffly.
“Huh.” There’s a hot nurse on the screen now. Derek says, “Woah, she’s hot.”
“Wentworth Miller is hot,” Erica sighs. Boyd rolls his eyes.
“You haven’t got a chance,” Boyd tells her. “He’s gay.”
Derek frowns. “He’s literally flirting with that nurse right now.”
“He means in real life,” Erica says, “the actor is gay.”
“Oh.” Derek studies him. He doesn’t look gay. He’s all big and muscly and tattooed and intimidating. “I’m heading to bed. I’ll see you guys later.”
~
He doesn’t know what to do on Monday. He shows up to class and Stiles is there, refusing to look in his direction. He’s doing that leg-bouncing thing again and Derek wants to tell him to stop, but it feels dangerous to talk to him. Instead, he kind of sits down and tries to hold himself as casually as possible. It doesn’t work, though, because after class, Stiles throws all his shit into his backpack and whirls on Derek with his teeth bared like a cheetah or something.
“It’s not fucking contagious,” he snaps, and then he storms out while Derek just sits there, stunned.
This seems like too much. Derek doesn’t think he reacted all that poorly on Friday. He was surprised, sure, but he can’t help it that he’s oblivious about shit sometimes! And he definitely never said anything outright bad about gay people in high school or college. Maybe he hasn’t always been the most open-minded guy, but he’s a lot better than ninety percent of the people he knows. And he’d never say anything rude to Stiles’s face either. Or probably behind his back. Maybe. As long as no one associates him with a sexuality besides straight, he doesn’t care. It’s only when the line starts to get blurry that he cares about reinforcing the idea that Derek Hale does NOT think about fucking guys (even if every now and again it is a teensy, tiny bit true).
He goes to practice and gets his frustration out on the field. It’s good. Playing D1 is hard. He has to get up at five every single weekday to go and practice until eight and then he has to do it all over again in the afternoon from two to five. And then the games are going to start in a couple weeks and that means travelling one weekend out of every three for the whole semester, but, oh well. It’s worth it. He needs lacrosse in order to function. If he didn’t have this sport, he’d probably have drunk and slept his way into an early grave. It was like, the only thing after freshman year that motivated him to stay alive.
When he gets home, the place is empty. He goes upstairs and showers and then he tries to do his statistics homework but it’s like trying to read Greek.
He doesn’t get it. People have always treated him like he’s stupid, but he could have sworn at one point he wasn’t. He can do math in his head super well, he can understand plays on the field and predict the other team’s movements in a heartbeat, and he thinks he has good ideas, too. Like that essay for the English class. He had no clue what the fucking prompt meant at first, but then Stiles read it out to him and talked through it with him, and it was like shit just clicked in his brain. And then last week, with stats. Every time Stiles would explain anything it all made sense. Why can’t he parse anything on his own?
He groans and collapses forward onto the desk. In high school, he coasted by pretty well sophomore and junior year (with minimal cheating), and then senior year grades didn’t matter all that much because he already had a scholarship to play lacrosse. He just needed to not fail anything. And then freshman year here, things were tough, but he managed. Fall semester as a sophomore is when things really started to take a nosedive, and then last semester they hit rock bottom. Coach had to pull him aside and look him in the eyes and say, Derek, you need to start performing better academically. And then Derek started to panic, because did that mean Coach didn’t think he was good enough to go pro? And Coach said, I’m not saying that. I’m just saying you are team captain and need to set an example, blah, blah, blah. And also, it’s good to have a fallback. What if you get injured? And Derek got pretty nervous after that, because Coach was right, nothing in life is guaranteed. He’d know better than anyone.
So, yeah. He’s been trying really hard this year to do better. But it’s hard. Stiles was kind of like a godsend for two weeks, there. Too bad that option’s gone out the window.
Although…
Why has it gone out the window? There’s no reason Derek can’t still go to him for tutoring, technically. He’ll keep it on the down low, you know. And if someone finds out, it’s not, like, incriminating. He’ll just be honest and say Stiles is a good tutor and, unfortunately for him, the hot one isn’t available, so…he’s stuck with the gay kid. Which he doesn’t have a problem with. Cause he’s not homophobic.
Stiles won’t turn him down, if he shows up at his apartment tomorrow, he’s pretty confident about that. If necessary, he’ll even offer him more money. This is generally a good solution to Derek’s problems. He’s found most people tolerate him a lot better once they realize he’s rich. It doesn’t bother him (it doesn’t, okay?) and, well. Stiles is human. He’s clearly a broke college student. Derek isn’t sure how much tuition costs here, since he’s got a full ride, but he assumes it isn’t cheap.
Derek goes downstairs to make himself chicken and rice. Boyd is back, too.
“Where’d you go?” Derek asks.
“Walked Erica back.”
“Yeah? She like parading you around in your lacrosse jersey?” he grins. Boyd ducks his head.
“I guess.”
Derek laughs. He likes Erica and Boyd together. They danced around each other for all of high school and the first year of college. It’s been maybe eight months since they got together, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen either of them so happy before. It makes something deep inside him twist a little, at times, but he’s pretty good at pushing it away.
~
On Tuesday he walks around Stiles’ building four times. Starts right at the stairwell closest to his apartment and walks counterclockwise. He only stops because some guy in a souped-up Dodge Challenger pulls into the parking lot and starts revving his engine and Derek kind of thinks he might be gearing up to kill him or something.
He goes inside and takes the steps, one at a time, slow. He goes all the way up to the top floor and then back down again. He looks at his watch and sees it’s ten after. He stands right by the exit. Above him, he hears a door slam, and he jumps, then hears the pitter-patter of footsteps as someone races down the stairs.
It’s Allison Argent, coming from the entrance to the third floor. She slows when she sees Derek and takes out her headphones with a frown.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
“Just—” he motions in the direction she just came from. “Tutoring, you know.”
Her frown deepens. “Stiles thought you weren’t going to come back for tutoring any longer.” She steps closer to him; examines him like he’s a threat.
“Oh, well. He’s good at explaining stuff.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know what he told you, but I don’t care about the, uh, the gay thing.”
“Then why are you hanging in the stairwell like a creep instead of heading up?”
“I was texting someone,” he lies.
“Really? I don’t see your phone.”
“I put it in my pocket because I finished texting them.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Allison purses her lips. “You know, this is college, Hale. It’s not cool to bully queer people anymore. It’s frowned upon, in fact.”
“I’m not a bully. I don’t know where Stiles and everyone is getting this impression that I’m homophobic.”
“Okay,” she says slowly. “You better be telling the truth because he’s already gone through enough of that shit for one lifetime.”
Derek nods tightly.
“Anyway,” she says. “I’m going for a run. If I come back in two hours and Stiles is in tears, I’ll hunt you down and castrate you.”
What the fuck? “Uh, okay.” He watches her pop her headphones back in and head out into the night. He considers warning her about the sketchy car guy out there but thinks she’s probably more intimidating than whoever that dude is.
He treks upstairs at a normal pace this time, stops at the third floor and enters the dim hallway. Stiles and Allison live all the way at the end, and each step he takes makes him more anxious. What is he freaking out about? What does he think Stiles, who probably weighs a buck fifty soaking wet, is going to overpower him and, like, kiss him or something?
He knocks on the door, once. Waits. When no response comes, he tries a second time, louder. There’s movement on the other side and the doorknob twists and pulls back an inch to reveal Stiles, frowning and eyes narrowed.
“Hey,” Derek says.
Stiles opens the door a little wider. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Aren’t you scared you’re going to get HIV if you come in?” he says.
Derek rubs his eyes. He says, “I know that’s not how it works. Also, I don’t know how many times I have to say it, I don’t care that you’re gay. Can you please let me in so I can get your help with stats?”
Stiles glares at him some more. He opens his mouth, and Derek knows he’s about to say something so scathing it might make the hair on his arms stand up. He cuts him off, “I’ll pay you forty an hour. Please. I really need your help.”
For some reason, the last sentence seems to hit Stiles somewhere. His glare lessens and he deflates a little. He sighs and steps back, opening the door to let Derek into the apartment.
“You don’t have to pay me forty dollars. Thirty is already too much.”
Derek shrugs. Really ten more bucks an hour isn’t going to make a difference to him, but he doesn’t want to hurt Stiles’ pride. He goes and takes a seat at the dining room table and sees a bunch of pages of Stiles’ scratchy handwriting and his laptop splayed out.
“Sorry,” Stiles says for some reason. He starts to tidy up the space.
“What were you working on?” Derek asks.
“Um,” Stiles blinks at him, like he maybe expected Derek to come inside and start hurling slurs at him instead of asking about his homework. “Just, um, writing for the paper.”
“The school one?”
“Yeah,” he says.
“Cool. You like journalism?”
“Not really. It’s a one-credit elective and it pays. Twenty bucks an article, so, I try to churn out three or four a week. I don’t know, it’s whatever.” He shrugs, like this is no big deal. It’s no big deal that he’s a week ahead on his schoolwork and he tutors for six hours a week and writes more for the school paper every week than Derek normally writes in a semester.
“What are you writing about?”
“Um.” Again, Stiles sort of blinks at him like it’s the most shocking thing in the entire world that Derek isn’t being a gigantic asshole. “Just, um, the new Wendy’s.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. They’re replacing the Sbarro at the food court. Um, with a Wendy’s.”
“Huh.”
“It’s not very exciting. They don’t like it when I write too many opinion pieces, though. They normally make me stick with campus news and stuff.”
“You ever write about sports?”
“A couple times, last semester. I’m normally not very complimentary, so, Rudy only asks me if he’s desperate.” Stiles scratches at his shoulder underneath his t-shirt. “That’s the editor. Rudy.”
“Cool.” Derek doesn’t want to seem uncomfortable, cause he’s not, but now that Stiles brought attention to his torso, he can’t stop his eyes from flitting down to where he approximates his nipples are. He can’t see anything, of course, cause the stupid shirt is so oversized it just hangs over him like a blanket, but he lingers a little too long.
“Do you like them?” Stiles asks.
“What?” For a horrifying second, he’s not sure what Stiles is asking about, but then he realizes the shirt is for a band. “Oh, I’ve never heard of them before. It’s cool, though. Like, the design.”
Stiles looks down at the graphic and smiles a little to himself. “I saw them in concert last year with Scott. It was fun.” He looks up and his face is all tentatively happy, and Derek finds it a little hard to breathe. “Anyway, do you have your homework?”
“Yeah.” He pulls out his textbook. Feels lighter already.
After they’ve gone through all the homework he had assigned for this week, he starts to pull out his wallet, but Stiles shakes his head.
“It’s fine,” he says.
“But you just sat here and explained all this to me for like an hour,” Derek protests.
“I feel bad, you know, I misjudged you and it wasn’t fair.” He clears his throat. “I really hate when people make assumptions about me, but I went ahead and did it to you anyway. So, I’m sorry. Thanks for not being a jerk to me.”
“It’s fine.” Derek’s still holding his wallet kind of unsure. He doesn’t really understand how he’s supposed to act around Stiles.
As if he can read his mind, Stiles smirks and asks, “you don’t know a lot of gay guys, do you?”
“Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize.” Stiles holds his hands out in a well? gesture. “You can ask me stuff if you’re curious, but otherwise, literally just treat me like any of your other guy friends. I’m not that different, trust me.”
“Right.” Derek puts his wallet back in his pocket. “Um, what’s your favorite movie?”
Stiles looks a little surprised, like he was maybe expecting Derek to ask what his favorite position was instead, but he recovers quickly. “I like all the original Star Wars,” he says. “And pretty much all David Fincher movies. Seven and Zodiac and Fight Club are just sort of classics, you know? I even sort of like Gone Girl, although Rosamund Pike freaks me out in it. What about you?”
“Um, I like all those, too.” He clears his throat. “I don’t know why I asked that, I don’t really watch a lot of movies.”
Stiles laughs and it’s all toothy and freckly and his nose scrunches up. He says, “I guess lacrosse takes up a lot of your time, huh?”
“Like, five hours a day, at least.”
“That’s intense.”
“Well,” Derek shrugs, “it’s sort of like my whole personality.”
“That’s not true,” Stiles says, he frowns. “You’re good at mental math. You have interesting thoughts on Captain Ahab. You put in effort in school and invited me to that frat party even though I’m like the last person anyone probably cared about having there. You’re way more than just some sport.”
Derek stares at him. He tries to reconcile this nice and complimentary Stiles with the guy who lashed out so viciously with his words the other day Derek almost checked for cuts.
“Thanks,” he says, finally.
Stiles smiles again. He looks down at his hands, folded on the table, then he looks back up. “Um,” he says, “I feel like I kind of owe you this.”
Derek shifts in his seat. He tries not to look away.
“I’ve been with some guys,” Stiles continues slowly, and Derek tries even harder not to look away, because how is he supposed to sit here and act normal while Stiles talks about his sex life? “Like, not to make you uncomfortable, um, but they were on the lacrosse team. They weren’t always super nice.”
Derek blinks at him in shock.
“Like, in high school a lot of sports people weren’t super nice to me, but it never really hurt as much when they were mean as long as we weren’t actively sleeping together.” Stiles’ face is red now and he seems as uncomfortable as Derek. “So, anyway. That’s why I was kind of defensive. I just, um, haven’t always had good experiences with them.”
“You mean, on the Beacon Hills team?”
“Yes.”
“In high school?”
Stiles raises an eyebrow. He says again, “yes, Derek. I had sex with two guys on the Beacon Hills high school lacrosse team.”
“Like, guys I knew?”
“I mean,” Stiles splays his fingers out on the table in front of him. “I would assume so. How many kids were on the team? Like, thirty?”
Derek gapes at him. He racks his brain. Who the fuck slept with Stiles? Someone he knew well? Maybe even two someones he knew well?
“Don’t bother asking who they were,” Stiles continues, “I’d never out anyone. I just wanted to explain why I was so rude or ‘paranoid’ as you like to say.”
“So—so you, you—”
“Yeah.” He shifts. “One of them it was just hooking up a couple times, but the other I dated for like eight months.”
Derek’s mind is empty. Totally. Like it’s one vast plain and he’s looking for words but there are none.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have trauma dumped on you like that,” Stiles says, nervous now. “I don’t know why I said all that. I wanted to explain, I guess. But now I’ve made you uncomfortable.” He slaps his palm onto his forehead. “Which, duh Stiles, I mean these are your friends, your teammates and I’m just, like, shit-talking them so I’m sorry about that. Forget I said anything—”
“Stiles,” Derek says, and Stiles’ mouth snaps shut. “It’s fine. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“It’s fine,” Stiles says quietly. “I’m over it.”
Derek wonders if he is over it though. “Thanks for telling me.”
“Right. No problem.” He laughs, nervous and high. “But, uh, it’s not happening anymore! Like, not with anyone on the college team in case you were worried, so. Anyway.”
“That’s good,” Derek says. “Not cause I have a problem with gay, uh, teammates. But it’s good you aren’t going through that stuff.”
“Yeah.” Stiles scratches at the spot behind his ear. “Well, see you in class tomorrow, I guess? I think we get our papers back, so, that’s good.”
“Right. As long as I got a C, I’ll be happy.” Derek starts to pack up his stuff.
“You didn’t get a C,” Stiles says, “B at least. Trust me. I’ve written a lot of papers, for Dr. Connor especially, and that was B material.”
Derek stands up, backpack in one hand and waits as Stiles stands up to lead him to the front door. He’s very tall. Maybe that’s what threw him off. He’s, like, barely two inches shorter than Derek. He’s thin, though. His wrists are kind of bony and delicate looking, and his fingers are long and slim. Piano hands, he thinks is what they’re called. His gaze lingers on them as they twist open the front doorknob and he has this ridiculous thought about where those fingers might have been before.
He snaps his gaze up, sees Stiles hasn’t noticed him staring, and starts out the door.
“Thanks again,” he says. “See you later.”
“Right,” Stiles says. He gives him one of his goofy smiles where his eyes crinkle. “See you in class tomorrow.”
Derek leaves.
~
The next morning, he and Boyd walk to practice together. They’re normally quiet this early, cause it’s five-thirty and the sun hasn’t even risen yet, but Derek hasn’t been able to get Stiles’ confession out of his head. He looks at Boyd and decides to go for it.
“Do you think any of the guys on the team in high school were in the closet?” he asks.
Boyd doesn’t seem surprised by this question. Derek doesn’t think he’s ever been surprised by anything his whole life. He considers Derek’s words thoughtfully. Finally, he says, “I would think a couple.”
“Do you have an idea which ones?”
“No,” he says. “I’d just guess at least one guy had to be, statistically. Maybe closer to four or five.” He shrugs.
“Yeah.” Derek adjusts his duffel bag on his shoulder. “I never really thought about it before, but then Stiles, you remember, he’s tutoring me? He said something about it.”
Boyd frowns.
“What?” Derek asks.
“Kids were shit to him, is all.”
Derek’s too scared to ask him for details. He shuts up and soon they’re at the gym.
Stiles was right on the money with his guess the other night. Dr. Connor has their papers already sitting face down at everyone’s seats when he shows up to class and Derek grabs his and flips it over and then shows it to Stiles with a grin.
“Dude,” Stiles says, he grins back. “Nice.”
He doesn’t check the grade on his own paper, just folds it up and slips it away before Derek has the chance to peak over nosily. It strikes him as oddly considerate.
He tries to pay attention during class this time. He’d sort of given up on that ages ago, but he has a secret desire in the back of his head to make Stiles proud. To prove he can also be a good student, if he so chooses.
It actually does help a little, he realizes, to listen to Dr. Connor explain the excerpt from Invisible Man that they read over the weekend. He’s not as good at it as Stiles is, but he’s better than a lot of Derek’s other professors. A thought strikes him suddenly and he leans forward to scratch out a question on his notebook. He taps Stiles on the arm and points: do you want to be a teacher? Stiles looks at it, pulls out his own pencil and leans forward. He looks at Derek when he’s done.
No. Why?
You’re just good at explaining stuff and you’re a tutor
Thanks! What do you want to do?
Lacrosse, if I’m good enough.
You’re good enough :)
Derek looks over at Stiles, who is smiling at him. He can’t believe he thought Stiles was an asshole last week. He’s literally the most cheerful, bubbly person ever. He glances back at the notebook and circles where Stiles had written what do you want to do and writes another question mark next to it. Stiles looks back down and his face gets somber.
Not sure. Probably something that lets me stay in BH
Derek wants to follow that up with another question, but Stiles gives him a little shake of his head and nods back in the direction of Dr. Connor. Derek has the distinct impression he’s avoiding something.
~
He doesn’t invite Stiles to another party that weekend and he feels slimy about it, but in his defense, Stiles himself said he wasn’t a big party person. And plus, Derek wants to get wasted and hook up with some random girl and he can’t really do that if he has to entertain his English tutor.
He’s successful, at least on Friday night. He wakes up on Saturday and there’s some topless chick in his room and he has the vaguest impression of fucking her but he doesn’t even remember her name, if he ever knew it to begin with. She rolls over in the bed and grins at him, sleepily. She points to his legs and says, “one for the road?”
Afterward, he pulls on sweatpants and walks her to the door cause he’s a gentleman. She gives him a wink and her number, but he’s not going to call again. He doesn’t like sleeping with the same girl twice, they get all clingy and emotional and he can’t handle that shit right now. Relationships and all that are just a distraction. And plus, he’s not really cut out for that stuff. He’s been told as much many, many times.
Boyd is in the kitchen with Erica when he comes back. They’re drinking coffee and watching him with similarly inscrutable expressions.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing,” Erica says. “You ever going to get serious about all that?”
“What’s ‘all that?’ I don’t even know her name.”
“Okay, first of all, try not to say stuff like you don’t remember the names of the women you hook up with because it kind of reinforces the general consensus that you’re an asshole,” Erica says, rolling her eyes. “And by ‘all that’ I meant people. Like, sex with them but with meaning behind it.”
Derek shrugs. “I don’t have time for that.”
Erica’s expression is definitely more scrutable now. “You sure it’s the time component you’re worried about?”
Derek scowls. He says, “I have to go. Cora called me like fifty times last night.”
Boyd and Erica watch him leave in silence.
Cora is a freshman, but not at Beacon Hills University. She wanted to get away from the town, just like Laura had. Didn’t like the memories associated with it. Didn’t care for Uncle Peter much at all. But she and Derek have always been pretty close, closer with each other than anyone else in their family, living or dead. They call almost every week, if not more frequently. Today, he’s decided to tell her about Stiles. Not the secret, scary thoughts of fucking him, but the other part. The sort of friends part.
“Hi,” she answers on the second ring.
“Hey. How’s it going?”
“Good. I tried to Facetime you last night to show you my costume, but you wouldn’t pick up.”
“Sorry, I was busy.”
“Ew,” she makes a gagging noise. “Gross.”
“I didn’t say I was having sex, I said I was busy.”
“Yeah, but I know what you meant.” She pauses. “Is she, like, someone you’re going to see again?”
“I don’t think so.” He doesn’t want to talk about this. “How’s school?”
“Good. Lots of A’s, a couple B’s so far. This shit is not as hard as everyone in high school said it was going to be.”
“Yeah.”
“How about for you?”
“Uh, good, too. I just go a B on this paper and I’m doing pretty well in my other classes.”
“Derek, that’s great!”
“Yeah, well”—just bite the bullet—“I’ve been getting tutored by this kid. He’s basically a genius.”
“Really?”
“Mmhmm. Um, Stiles Stilinski. I don’t know if you remember him. He was in the grade between us.”
On the other line, Cora is silent for a few seconds. Derek feels sweat starting to speckle his brow. He stands up and starts to pace around the room.
“Are you there?”
“Yeah, sorry. Just a little surprised. I didn’t realize you knew who he was?”
“I didn’t remember him which I know is shitty, but we’re kind of friends now.”
“You know he’s gay, right?”
“Yeah,” he bristles. “Why, is that a problem?”
“Not for me, no. I just, well, you know some of the guys at school used to bully him, right?”
“Not me.” Jeez, does everyone know about this except him?
“Of course, not. He just had a hard time; I always felt bad for him. It must have been hard, being the only gay kid at our school.”
“He wasn’t the only gay kid,” Derek says. This he’s confident on.
“The only one who was out, I meant.”
“No, I know. There was another guy, though. Uh, you were a sophomore, I think? Some kid, well, there was a picture, but that guy was out, too.” It was a pretty heinous picture, Derek remembers. It’s why it sticks in his mind. He didn’t know who the kid was or keep up with gossip at school (he was too busy practicing and fucking and drinking) but even he saw the picture. One second there were no gay kids at Beacon Hills and then over the course of one evening and morning, everyone there had seen the photo of that poor guy on his hands and knees with a dick in his mouth and spit dripping down his chin.
The phone is silent again and Derek pulls it away from his ear to check that the call is still active.
“Cora?”
“Derek,” she says, and her tone is kind of embarrassed. “Tell me you’re not serious right now.”
“What? I didn’t mean to see the picture, alright? Everyone saw it. It’s not like I was one of the people spreading it around.”
“Derek,” Cora repeats, slowly like he’s an idiot, “Stiles Stilinski was the kid in that picture.”
Derek stops in his tracks. He feels like his heart is suddenly going a thousand beats per minute but everything else in the room has stopped. He closes his eyes and tries to go back to senior year, tries to remember seeing that picture. He had really only glanced at it when Matt showed him in the locker room, because, well, he felt bad for the guy, but also, he was worried he might have trouble schooling his reaction to it. No matter how hard he tries now, though, he can’t get the face in his head clear enough to confirm it was indeed Stiles.
“What?” he asks, finally.
“Yeah. Kids were always assholes to him, but once that picture got out things got like, ten times worse. And then senior year, well. I don’t know. You should ask Malia if you’re curious, she was in his class. I just heard about that stuff more than I witnessed any of it.”
“That’s so fucked.”
“Yeah.”
“Who took the picture?”
“Nobody knows. He never said, as far as I’m aware.”
Derek closes his eyes again he thinks back to the other night, to Stiles confessing he’d slept with two of the guys on the lacrosse team and alluding to them being “not nice.” This seems a little more extreme than someone being “not nice” to him. He thought Stiles meant kids would, like, call him names and shit. Not that that was okay, but at least it wasn’t a public outing. He grits his teeth.
“Huh. Well, we’re friends now and he seems okay.” Derek rubs his eyes with one hand. “I need to go. Got to study.”
“Okay. Bye, love you.”
“Love you, too.”
He throws the phone on the bed and bounds down the stairs two at a time. Erica and Boyd are still sitting in the kitchen, enjoying their coffee at a snail’s pace.
“You didn’t tell me Stiles was the one in that photo back in high school,” he snaps at Boyd. Boyd stares at him.
“I assume he probably doesn’t like when people are reminded of it,” Boyd says, carefully. Erica snaps her head up and glances between the two of them.
“Wait, you mean the dick-sucking photo?” she says. “That’s your new English tutor?”
“Yes. If I had known that was him I would’ve—” he cuts himself off, because what would he have done differently? Handle him with kid gloves or something? “I don’t know, I guess a heads up would have been nice. I didn’t realize when everyone talked about him having a rough time in school he was like, actually seriously harassed.”
Boyd just stares at him. Erica leans forward with her arms crossed under her. “Wait, isn’t he like, hot now? I heard he had a massive glow-up.”
“How would I know?” Derek asks.
“Well, just cause you aren’t attracted to him doesn’t mean you can’t gauge with some degree of accuracy whether other people might be. We all know he’s got a nice mouth at least.”
“That shit’s not funny,” Derek snaps. “That was probably super traumatic for him, so, I don’t know, be respectful or something.”
Erica raises her eyebrows, but her cheeks are red. “You’re right, I’m sorry,” she says. She shakes her head. “Wow, I can’t believe I just got lectured about being respectful by the guy who walked his one-night stand to the door while she wore a pair of his boxers and then didn’t even remember her name.”
“Okay, that—she said they were basically like shorts. What was I supposed to say, give them back?”
Erica rolls her eyes. “Whatever. So, is he?”
“Is who what?”
“Is Stiles hot now?”
Derek closes his mouth. He thinks of Stiles’ collarbones and his big brown eyes and flashy, white smile. He thinks of his elegant hands and long legs. He shrugs.
“Maybe,” he says.
~
He starts to spend a lot of time talking with Stiles, he realizes. They see each other every single day except the weekend after all. And he’s fun to talk to. He’s witty and smart and he makes Derek laugh a lot. He learns that Stiles always goes to the library after English, to study for an hour before his next class (philosophy of something, he can’t remember what) so Derek gets into the habit of walking him there so they can talk about class and other meaningless shit. And then on Tuesdays and Thursdays, he comes over for two hours for “tutoring,” although at this point Stiles normally only tutors him for like half an hour, if that. They spend the rest of the time studying together or sometimes they’ll play Mario Kart or talk. It’s all very chill and normal, kind of like a regular friend.
But in the back of his head, Derek can never really get rid of the thought that it’s not perfectly chill and normal and regular because Stiles’ likes sex with guys, and Derek kind of wants to be one of those guys. So, he just makes sure he’s always aware of little things like how close he sits to Stiles and how long he looks at him for and avoids saying his name too much in favor of words like dude and bro and man. And he doesn’t think Stiles has any inkling of the deep, dark secret want in his head.
One Tuesday, not quite a full month into the semester, Allison is on her way out the door when he gets there and she’s wearing her running gear which tonight is just biker shorts and a sports bra and listen, Derek’s not immune to the allure of the female body alright? His eyes drop for a split second to her chest but they snap right back up and she hasn’t noticed. She just bounds right by him without a word, headphones in and music blaring. Derek closes the door and goes to sit across from Stiles, who’s drinking coffee for some godforsaken reason, like he doesn’t have to be up for his eight AM history class at seven-thirty tomorrow.
“Can I ask you something?” Derek says, tapping his fingers nervously against the table.
Stiles looks up. “Sure.”
“You don’t look at women and ever get turned on, like at all?”
Stiles does his annoying little smirk at that, like he knows something Derek doesn’t. “Not at all,” he says.
“But, I mean, have you tried? With a woman? Just to make sure?”
Stiles shrugs. “I don’t have to try,” he says. “Do you have to try having sex with a guy to make sure you’re not into them?”
Derek puts conscious effort into schooling his expression. He says, “I guess not.”
“Where’s this coming from?”
“I don’t know, I guess, sex with women is so great, I feel like it’d be hard not to enjoy. I mean, doesn’t it always feel good to get your dick wet and stick it in something?”
Stiles flushes. He looks down at his homework and resumes his writing. “I wouldn’t know.”
“What?” Derek asks. Stiles looks up again.
“Please tell me I don’t have to explain gay sex to you,” he says.
“I know how anal works,” Derek answers, and he feels like maybe his face is as red as Stiles’ is at this point.
“Thank goodness,” Stiles answers. He looks back down at his work but keeps talking without meeting Derek’s eyes. “Then you know there’s normally someone who tops and someone who bottoms.”
“And you—you always…?”
“Well, so far.”
“But haven’t you ever wanted to do it the other way?”
Stiles sets his pencil down with a sigh, like he knows Derek isn’t going to be done with this conversation anytime soon. He laces his fingers together. “I know you’re straight, so you probably don’t really understand this, but I tend to present a certain…way.” He shifts his shoulders and Derek glances at the knob of his collarbone, exposed as the neck of his sweater hangs loose around him. “Guys look at me and they tend to make assumptions, because I’m not very bulky and my face is sort of…anyway. They approach me with those in mind, and I don’t dissuade them.”
“What, you’re saying because you’re skinny you’re always on the bottom?”
“Essentially.”
“Do you want to try it the other way?” He makes a flipping motion with his hand, then blushes, because what would Stiles need a visual for?
“If I ever had the chance, yeah,” he answers, his tone honest, “but I don’t mind bottoming. I bet I’d prefer it, it’s good. It feels good. Just, it’d just be nice one time, to try it the other way.”
“Sorry,” Derek says after a pause, “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“No, I don’t mind. It’s nice you’re being open-minded and shit. It’s okay to be curious. It’s way better than sitting around and painting a totally inaccurate view of what gay people and sex are like because you’re too nervous to ask about it.”
“Yeah.” Derek watches him finish the outline for something. His fingers hold his pencil with familiarity and a sense of casual confidence, like he was born to use the instrument. Derek’s been reading Stiles’ newspaper articles, and he thinks maybe he was born to do it, to write. He’s good at taking even mundane shit like a Sbarro being replaced with a Wendy’s and making it seem interesting or funny.
Derek looks back at his marketing homework. He needs to stop thinking shit like this about Stiles. It’s too dangerous. It’s like a disease, crawling up from his gut and into his head and coloring the way he views their relationship. He’s got to keep it at bay, because he’s pretty sure if it infects him, he’s not going to be able to treat it.
He’s going to be stuck like that, sick as a dog over Stiles Stilinski.