breenwolf:

Derek can practically hear Stiles’s voice in his ears. 

For her pleasure? Oh, you’re freaking hilarious. My sides are splitting. Really.

It’s enough to make Derek smirk—a little— but he’s not exactly sold on the deal. Ten condoms for twelve dollars is ridiculous; he can offend Stiles some other way. He might have a sweet deal already lined up for him once he graduates from law school, but Derek is still a college student for all intents and purposes, and he has a budget that only has ten dollars set aside for condoms this week.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out and squints at the name on the screen (again, he hears Stiles’s voice in his head: put your stupid glasses on, four eyes).

“What,” he says flatly, and he can almost hear Laura roll her eyes on the other end of the phone.

“So charming,” she sighs, then, to someone on her end of the phone, she says, “I see why you’re together.”

Derek’s stomach drops.

“Laura,” he says, his tone warning.

“What, baby brother?” she says sweetly, and, fuck, Derek actually can hear Stiles laughing in the background.

“You’ve met Stiles.” It’s not a question.

“I gotta say, he’s not what I expected. I was kind of expecting a Derek 2.0. He’s skinnier.”

Stiles hisses—“Hey! I’m whipcord lean, okay?” – his familiar protests.

“Anyway, Stiles says you’re shopping,” Laura goes on. “I need you to pick some stuff up for me.”

“Stiles said that?” Derek asks, narrowing his eyes.

A mother with a shopping cart, her two pre-teen children bickering on her heels, gives Derek a dirty look—no doubt because condoms are satanic toys in the eyes of minivan-driving princesses of suburbia. Derek smiles sweetly back at her because he fucking can.

“Why don’t you put my boyfriend on the phone, then?” Derek says, his eyes still locked with Supermom, who glares and gapes, clearly offended. She leaves quickly, her children completely unaware of the nonverbal conversation their mother just had the stranger buying condoms. She’ll talk about the traumatic experience later, in hushed, condemning whispers at her book club. 

“… Derek,” Stiles’s voice comes through the phone, his tone smug.

“I know what you’re doing,” Derek says flatly. “And it’s not going to work. I don’t get embarrassed.”

Stiles laughs; Derek allows himself a small, honest grin at the sound. “Hey, a guy can try.”

“This is a war you’re going to lose, Stiles,” Derek promises. “Put Laura back on the phone—I’ll get whatever she needs.”

“Alright, you funsuck,” Stiles grumbles, and he hands the phone back to Laura.

Derek takes her requests—toilet paper and aloe vera and a box of cereal—and hangs up. He turns a narrowed, contemplative gaze back to the condoms and thinks fuck it.

When he gets back to Laura’s apartment, he dumps his bags out unceremoniously, and Stiles scrambles to get the condoms off of the table before Laura can say anything.

He’s too late, though, and Derek smugs wryly when Laura’s eyebrows rise. She looks at Stiles and says, slowly, “For her pleasure?”