sterekfluffer:

Happy birthday, @pale-silver-comb, you gorgeous sweetheart! I hope you have a lovely, LOVELY, day full of wonderful things ❤ Here’s a little sterek fic to show you how much I appreciate your friendly presence in my life *hug* 

A million thanks to the wonderful @matildajones for beta-ing and reading it over and for being so helpful when it came to my writer’s block ❤

Also on A03

Derek hadn’t wanted to come but Lydia simply would not take no for an answer.

“You designed this building, Hale! Of course you have to be there when we open it to the public!” She had exclaimed, narrowing her eyes at him.

Derek had had no choice but to gulp and surrender because Lydia could be really intimidating. But now that he’s here, at the launch, nursing his second glass of champagne at the bar in the corner of the room, he realizes again why he hadn’t wanted to come in the first place.

It’s boring. He barely knows most of the people and the people he does know have nothing but praise for him. He feels like he’s being smothered in their excessive compliments and it makes him feel uncomfortable and awkward. He’s never been a people person and often huge crowds give him mild anxiety attacks. In any case, this building wasn’t his finest work. He hadn’t admitted it to anyone but he was actually pretty displeased with how it had turned out. Argent Constructions hadn’t followed his blueprints exactly and in the end, his input hadn’t amounted to anything when they’d decided to add an extra wing, as per Kate’s suggestion.

Derek sips at his champagne and looks around warily. He had just managed to escape his uncle’s clutches. Peter had been talking even bigger deals than this project and Derek knew that if he stayed he’d be roped in too and he was thinking of taking a small break, maybe. Just until he got his shit back together. His life was too fast, too much; he felt like a hurricane hurtling towards disaster.

“Jesus, fuck, you’re hot,” a guy next to him exclaims loudly.

Derek looks up from his glass and stares at the pretty man with the honey coloured eyes and the moles dotting his cheeks and neck. The man licks his lips and widens his eyes even more, now that Derek is giving him access to look at his entire face instead of just his profile.

“Let me get you a drink,” the guy breathes, slipping into the seat next to him. He smells like alcohol and oranges and a deep, dark, musky scent that Derek cannot place.

“I kinda already have one,” Derek says flatly, raising his glass and an eyebrow. The man stares at him, mesmerized for a minute before coming to.

“Then let me get you the next one!” he laughs, reaching out for his own flute of champagne and grasping it with long, thin fingers. Derek swallows and shakes his head. He can’t help but feel insanely attracted to the man but his blunt appreciation of Derek’s looks is making him feel a little embarrassed.

“Aw, come on,” the guy wheedles, squirming in his seat and giggling. He’s like a live-wire and Derek is fascinated by his constant movement and energy. “You look like you need to get drunk,” he grins wickedly and Derek is completely gone.  

“I’m Stiles,” the man says, offering a hand. Derek shakes it and it’s warm and big and oh so soft. Great, he thinks. Of course he’d have soft hands and long fingers. He pulls away rather quickly and then wonders if that had seemed rude.

“Derek,” he says gruffly, taking a long swig and looking away before he does something stupid like grab him and kiss him. The thin gold band is a heavy weight in his pocket.

“So, Derek,” Stiles starts, stretching out the syllables of his name long and slow, making a shiver run up Derek’s spine as he imagines the same word said in a different context. “What do you do?”

“I’m an architect,” Derek replies, reaching for the peanuts on the bar counter and cracking one open.

“Ooooh,” Stiles grins. “I think my bedroom’s ceiling is kinda leaking – maybe you could come poke around?” he says in a low voice, leaning so close his words fall on the shell of Derek’s ear. They feel deliciously wrong and thrilling.

“I’m an architect, not a plumber,” Derek says, his tone brusque. Stiles makes a face and downs his glass, simultaneously plucking another from a passing waitress’s tray.

“Are you here with someone?” Derek asks, slightly anxious about the amount of alcohol the guy is consuming. Stiles grins delightedly.

“Oh, like a date? Nope, I’m totally available,” he winks and moves his fingers to the edge of his mouth, wiping at his lip. Derek takes a sip of his own champagne to stop himself from staring.

“No, I mean, like a friend or someone who can take you home, because you’re kind of really drunk right now,” he clarifies. Stiles looks confused for a moment and gazes around the bar.

“Well, I did come here with Scotty but he’s probably gone home with Allison,” Stiles sighs, playing with his empty glass and the coaster. “But you can take me home if you like,” he brightens, giving Derek another wink.

“Stiles,” Derek says, marveling at the way the name fit so well in his mouth, “I’m married.”

Stiles stills in shock and then his gaze flits to Derek’s hands which are quite free of any ring. He looks back up, eyes slightly narrowed. Derek blushes red under his scruff and reaches for the band in his pocket. Pulling it out, he replaces it on his finger and clears his throat.

“I, uh, was just trying to see what it felt like without it,” he mutters, not looking at Stiles.

Stiles whistles low. “Trouble?” he asks.

“Yeah, we’re getting a divorce,” Derek admits, twisting the ring around his finger for a while before taking it off again and putting it back in his pocket. It didn’t feel right anymore.

“That bad?” Stiles tilts his head into his hand and looks at him with big hazel eyes. Derek looks away as he nods, not replying because the divorce papers haven’t been signed yet and Kate hasn’t come home in two days and he’s not sure what’s happening. Even Chris doesn’t know where she is.

“So we’re both fucked up then,” Stiles says after a while. The hand not holding his glass has been methodically running itself through his hair and it’s sticking up in all directions now. Derek wonders what it would feel like between his fingers and if Stiles would moan if he tugged at it. It would be so easy.

“Why are you fucked up?” Derek asks, staring at Stiles’ upturned mouth.

“My dad,” Stiles is slurring now. “He’s in the hospital. He had a heart attack.”

Derek stops staring at Stiles’ hair and mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” he mumbles but Stiles just grins. There’s something behind that grin though, something small and sad and angry. Derek thinks maybe if he kisses Stiles, he can pull it out and fix it. He shakes his head to clear it.

“It’s nothing really. He had one last year too and I told him to eat better and stay away from red meat but he still sneaks in burgers and curly fries whenever I’m not there,” Stiles stares at the marble counter of the bar and twists the stem of his flute in his hands. Derek doesn’t know what to say to that so he keeps quiet. The room is starting to empty of people; it’s getting late.

“I’m sorry,” Derek finally says after a while. “I hope he recovers soon.”

Stiles shrugs and downs the last of his champagne, places the glass on the counter and doesn’t ask for another one. He doesn’t look at Derek, just cradles his head in his hands and drums his fingers almost angrily against the sides of his head.

Derek clears his throat very quietly and hesitates before reaching out to put a hand over his arm. It’s just a light brush, Derek’s palm hardly skimming the fabric of Stiles’ shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles raises his head and coughs, scrubbing his face and squinting. “I must be keeping you. You have to go home, right?”

“It’s okay,” Derek says almost automatically. “How will you get home?”

“I guess I’ll catch a cab,” Stiles slurs a little, his syllables slipping and sliding in his mouth.

“I could, um, I could drop you home,” Derek offers, not thinking twice. Stiles looks at him a little curiously; Derek drops his gaze.

“Are you sure?” Stiles asks. Derek nods, getting off his barstool and grabbing his coat. He shrugs it on and puts both hands in his pockets before turning to Stiles.  

“Okay, then. Thanks,” Stiles gives him a small smile.

Derek leads the way, his heart pounding. He doesn’t know if it’s a good idea or not but Lydia’s always telling him to be spontaneous, damnit! And well, if dropping a stranger home because he’s quite drunk isn’t spontaneous, he doesn’t know what is. Stiles doesn’t feel like a stranger though, Derek realizes as he unlocks the car and opens the door for him. He feels like someone Derek knew a long long time ago but then forgot about. He feels familiar.

He feels like – home.

Home. Derek snorts to himself. He hasn’t had a home in ages. After the fire, he’d never settled down. In a way, becoming an architect was like redemption: he built houses and structures to make up for what he had lost. But even so, nothing he had ever built felt like home. That was when he realized a home wasn’t a building, it was a person.

He hadn’t found a home in Kate, only bad memories, abuse and manipulation. He’d never felt more alone in his life than he had with Kate. He didn’t even remember now why he’d married her. The gold band in his pocket was nothing to him.

He grips the steering wheel hard enough for his knuckles to turn white and he turns to Stiles.

“Um, where do you live?” he asks. Stiles looks at him, confused for a minute, as if he doesn’t remember where he is.

“Oh, uh,” Stiles hesitates, fiddling with the strap of his seat belt. “Do you think we could just drive for a while?” he asks, his voice small. “I don’t want to go home and be alone.”

Derek swallows as he nods. The quiet despair of sitting down for dinner with only one plate on the table, the empty bed and the cold sheets: he knew the feeling all too well. So he drives on and they sit in silence, Stiles staring at the cars and shops whizzing by, Derek staring straight ahead.

They drive until they reach the end of the city. They drive until the stars turn brighter and the trees denser. Derek slows down near the edge of the cliff that overlooks the next town and parks the car next to a grand old oak. He can’t ever remember coming here before. Or at least, not since he was very young.

“I love this place,” Stiles breathes quietly, opening his door and slipping out into the night. Derek pauses only a second before following him. It’s chilly outside.

“I used to come here with Scott all the time when I was a kid,” Stiles smiles, looking at Derek over his shoulder. “We used to come here at night and sometimes we’d fall asleep and then our parents would get really mad at us,” he holds out his hands on either side of his body, spins a little and tips his face towards the sky.

“Come on,” he calls out to Derek who’s fallen a little behind. “Come look at the stars!”

Derek stares as Stiles sinks down into the long grass and lies down on his back, folding his hands over his chest. He feels his breath catch a little as Stiles sighs and gazes at the sky. The intimacy of the simple act of lying down next to him feels overwhelming. He can’t remember Kate and him sharing anything like this.

“Come on, slow poke!” Stiles calls out again, sticking an arm straight up in the air and waving him over. Derek swallows as he walks over to him and lies down without a word. Stiles turns his head and grins at him before looking back at the sky.

The last time Derek saw stars this bright was probably nearly half his lifetime ago. There’s something about their calm winking that makes him feel strangely at peace. Just a mere two hours ago, he was in a room full of people who worked 9 to 5 jobs and could only ever talk about their husbands, wives or children, and now he was lying quietly next to a man he’d just met, their chests rising and falling in rhythm.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” Stiles breathes, holding up a hand and tracing the stars with his fingers.

“Yeah,” Derek replies, slipping one hand underneath his head to elevate it a little.

Stiles drops his hand to the grass, dangerously close to Derek’s. Derek can feel the back of Stiles’ knuckles against the skin of his wrist. He swallows.

Stiles starts to point out the
constellations. He knows almost all of them. Derek doesn’t even know the
difference between a meteor and an asteroid.

“Sometimes I wonder if there’s even any point to
life,” Stiles says quietly after a while. “I go to work, I come home, I feed the cat. On weekends, I call my dad and scold him because he’s been eating unhealthy again. I go to bars, I shoot pool, I drink and I try and get someone to come home with me but end up alone more often than not,” his voice is edged with a dull ache Derek can feel in the base of his throat. Stiles’ knuckles are firm against Derek’s wrist.

“It’s all so predictable, so monotonous,” Stiles turns his head to look at Derek, brows furrowed.

“I feel the same way,” Derek tells him. Their fingers are brushing now. Stiles is looking at him with an expression Derek can’t name.

“I want,” Stiles pauses, licks his lips. “I want an adventure.” His fingers wrap lightly around Derek’s and he waits.

Derek freezes at the contact and the ring in his pocket burns. He clears his throat but doesn’t pull away as Stiles slowly links their hands and squeezes. Looking carefully at him, Stiles rolls over and pushes himself up on one elbow, smiling quietly at him.

“There’s something about you,” Stiles whispers, so low Derek can barely hear. “Something, I can’t quite place,” he sounds frustrated.

“Stiles,” Derek finally finds his voice. It’s hoarse and he can’t quite get the words out. “I’m married.” Stiles stills, but doesn’t move away. “I can’t,” Derek pauses to search for the right words. “I can’t be your adventure.”

Stiles smiles then. A small, sad one. It makes Derek’s heart ache.

“It’s okay,” Stiles says, pulling his hand back and pushing himself up to his feet. He holds out a hand for Derek to take and pulls him up too. “I knew it,” his voice is slow and quiet. “I just, I mean I guess I –”

“I know,” Derek interupts, “Me too,” he adds after a minute.

Stiles nods and ducks his head, scuffing his shoe in the grass. “So, um, I should go home now. I mean, I’d like it if you could drop me home. Or I could call a cab. Either works,” he babbles, the words skidding over each other.

“No, it’s okay,” Derek brushes the grass off his pants and takes out his keys as they start the walk back to the car. “I can drop you off.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says, following him.

The ride to Stiles’ apartment is quiet. They don’t speak. They don’t need to. The car is full of ‘what if’s already.

“There,” Stiles says as Derek pulls up next to the building. “We’re here.”

“Yes,” Derek says, not looking at Stiles. He thinks of the divorce papers on his desk and of how just that morning he’d been about to sign them but at the last minute, found that he couldn’t.

“I, uh, I’ll get going now,” Stiles says, clearing his throat. Derek nods once but Stiles doesn’t open the car door, doesn’t leave. He stares at Derek for a long minute before reaching inside his jacket for a pen and an old receipt. He turns a little red as he scribbles down a string of numbers before handing the paper to Derek.

“Just in case,” he mumbles as Derek takes the scrap and pockets it. “Okay then, uh, thanks for the ride,” Stiles says, rubbing the back of his head and unlocking the door.

“No problem,” Derek says as Stiles slips out. He doesn’t look back.

*

Back in his penthouse apartment, Derek flings his coat on the rack and uncorks a bottle of whiskey, drinking straight from the bottle. The papers are on his desk. His pen lies next to them. He sinks into his chair and flips the documents open to the first page he has to sign and stares.

It’s Kate’s signature.

He flips the page and there’s her signature again. She’s signed the whole document.

Derek puts the whiskey on his desk and gets up and walks into their bedroom. The cupboard doors are open, the shelves are empty. He scrubs his face with his hand and goes into the kitchen. There’s a note on the fridge, held up by a garish fruit basket magnet he’s always hated.

Signed the papers. You’re free. I wish I could say I wish it had worked out between us.

It’s short and it should hurt but it doesn’t. It makes Derek want to laugh. He scrunches up the note, tosses it in the trash and walks back to his office, picking up his pen. He signs off three years of his life. Three years of a loveless marriage, of dreading coming home. Three years, wasted.

He sticks the papers in his drawer and leans back in his chair, downing some more whiskey, feeling it burn at the back of his throat. He could call Stiles. He could do it without feeling guilty now.

He takes the paper out of his pocket and traces the ink with his fingers. In minutes, he has it memorized.

He could call Stiles. He could tell him I want you to kiss me until I don’t feel empty anymore. He could tell him I’ll kiss you until it stops hurting. It could all be so easy, so simple.

He scrunches up the paper in his hand, closes his eyes and sees a sky bright with stars.

*

“Hi,” Stiles’ voice is sleepy. Derek is surprised for half a second before he glances at his watch and realizes it’s 2 am.

“It’s me,” Derek says, not knowing if that’s enough but wishing it is.

“Oh, Derek, hi,” there’s a smile in his words. Derek feels hope blossom beneath his ribs. “It’s very late,” Stiles’ voice is warm and heavy like syrup.

“I know, I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” Derek asks anxiously.

“No, no, it’s fine, what’s up?”

“I, uh, I got divorced. It’s final,” Derek says quietly, his heart hammering in his chest. “I signed the papers a week ago but I worked for her company and I waited until my agent cancelled that contract too.”

“I’m happy for you,” Stiles replies.

“Oh, um, yeah,” Derek feels a little disappointed. He waits but there’s silence on the line. “Um, okay then, I guess I’ll –”

“Guess you’ll what?” Stiles interrupts. Derek pauses.

“Um, nothing.”

“Oh.”

Derek shuffles his feet and looks at the floor buttons on the elevator. He swallows.

“How’s your dad?” he asks.

“Better,” Stiles replies.

They fall silent again. Derek rests his head against the cool metal of the elevator wall.

“I’m in your building,” he admits quietly.

“You are?” Stiles sounds pleased and surprised. “Where are you?”

“Standing in the elevator, wondering which floor you live on,” Derek smiles.

Stiles laughs. “Fourth floor,” he tells him. “Apartment 4-B.”

“Be there in two minutes,” Derek says, hanging up and pressing the button for the fourth floor.

*

Stiles opens the door in his pyjamas and a thin t-shirt. His hair is all mussed up and his eyes are soft with sleep. Derek steps forward, wraps one arm around his waist and kisses him. It’s slow at first, Derek’s lips catching Stiles and pressing against them, dry and chaste. Stiles pulls back with a smile and tugs him inside the apartment, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Hi,” he whispers as he presses Derek up against the door and leans in for another kiss. Derek grins and Stiles takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his hands firm on Derek’s waist.

“I’m glad to see you,” Stiles pulls back again, resting his forehead on Derek’s and breathing in slowly. Derek closes his eyes and drops his head into the crook of Stiles’ neck.

“’M glad to see you too,” he
mumbles into Stiles’ warm skin, feeling at home for the first time in nearly
fifteen years.