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Stiles did not hesitate outside Derek’s door. He hesitated in the parking lot, far enough away that Derek wouldn’t be able to hear his heartbeat and know that he was there for ten minutes before actually coming in. After those ten minutes were up, he took a deep breath and forced himself out of the Jeep.

He barged into Derek’s loft without bothering to knock, just like he usually did, and Derek didn’t even bother looking up from his book. It was something in French, it looked like, which was just not fair because how dare Derek be both ridiculously attractive and also fluently multilingual?

Sties did not let himself be distracted by the hot professor look Derek had going on with the French book and the steaming mug of tea and the argyle sweater, all laid out on the leather couch and soaked in sunbeams from the large wall of windows.

“Derek, my main man, I have a proposition for you.”

Derek looked up then, but only to raise an eyebrow at him. When Stiles didn’t break under the force of his judgment and go scurrying back from whence he came, Derek reluctantly closed his book and set it aside.

“I’m pretty sure Scott is your main man,” he said lightly. “And what proposition is this?”

“How would you like to help me stick it to some bigots?”

Both Derek’s eyebrows went up this time and Stiles mentally patted himself on the back for making him look so surprised. Getting any expression out of Derek Hale that wasn’t judgy or unimpressed was an accomplishment and Stiles kept a running tally of how many times he managed it.

“What kind of bigots?” Derek asked with caution that was both insulting and also probably warranted considering some of Stiles’ past shenanigans. “And stick it to them how exactly?”

Stiles took another deep breath and hoped his erratic heartbeat wasn’t giving him away. He was not going to let his awkwardness and inability to control his autonomic functions around Derek ruin his plan, not when the plan was so wonderfully petty and promised to be so very satisfying.

“Okay, so…” Stiles clapped his hands together and then held them out to the side, barely restraining the urge to do jazz hands. “I don’t know if you heard, but I came out at school a few weeks ago,” he said. “One seriously bisexual dude, right here, newly out and proud.”

“Oh,” Derek said, his beautiful face—a face worthy of a sexuality crisis, not that Stiles was ever, ever going to tell him about that—not really looking any more or less surprised than before the big revelation. “I hadn’t heard,” he said. “But that’s good. The out and proud part, I mean,” he added quickly. “Not the bigots, which are unfortunate but do make more sense with some context.”

“Yeah. Overall, it’s been fine,” Stiles said, tucking his hands into his pockets so he didn’t do something stupid like make finger guns. He had a tendency to make finger guns at inappropriate moments. “You know, most people really don’t care. But some people are just naturally douchebags.”

“Are they giving you trouble?” Derek asked, a frown creeping onto his face.

Stiles waved him off, then re-pocketed his hand.

“Keep the claws in, Sourwolf. I’m not getting shoved into lockers or anything. It’s just like…”

Stiles chewed on his lip, fighting back the wave of irritation that always accompanied his run-ins with the douchebags.

“Like, some of them insist that I’m actually gay and just too much of a coward to say it outright,” he said. “Others say I’m actually straight but can’t get a girl to sleep me, so I thought I’d try my hand at guys instead because I’m that undesirable and desperate to get laid. I’m just indecisive and greedy and afraid of commitment. That kind of bullshit.”

Derek was scowling outright now, hands fisted like he might actually pop his claws on Stiles’ behalf.

“That is bullshit,” he said heatedly. “But what do you want me to do about it? I’m assuming you’re not here to get me to tear their throats out.”

He looked like he might actually do it, though, if Stiles asked him to, and that warmed Stiles’ cold little heart.

“Uh, no,” Stiles said with a chuckle. “No, that seemed like a little much in the circumstances.”

“Then how am I supposed to help you get back at them?”

“By going to prom with me.”

Stiles was not surprised that this proclamation was met with silence.

“By going to…what?” Derek asked, righteous anger replaced by utter confusion.

“Prom,” Stiles repeated. “My senior prom. With me. As my date. Well, as one of my dates, actually.”

“Dates. Plural.”

“These assholes keep insisting that I have to ‘pick a side,’” Stiles said, air quotes and all. “They think I can’t like both women and men, or that neither women nor men could ever like me. I want to prove them wrong. I want to show up to prom with two dates, a boy and a girl, and rub it in all their faces that both my dates are hotter than any of theirs.”

Stiles ran a hand through his hair, his confidence in his brilliant plan waning ever so slightly in the face of Derek’s lack of reaction. He was just kind of staring. Maybe Stiles had finally come up with something so outlandish that he broke Derek. Or maybe Derek was going to clock him in the face and be horribly offended that Stiles was objectifying him or something.

“Erica already agreed to be my girl-date,” Stiles told him. “She’s actually really excited about it. A chance to flaunt her stuff and deliberately make a scene all night long? That’s right up her alley. And you…well, you are by far the most attractive guy I know, so I just thought…”

“You want me to go to senior prom with you, just to be your arm candy?” Derek asked slowly.

Stiles cringed.

“Uh, yeah, that sounds about right. But it’s for a good cause!”

There was another excruciatingly long beat of silence, and then Derek laughed. He laughed hard, head thrown back against the couch cushions, hands slapping against his knees, face scrunched up and shiny bunny teeth on full display. It was the kind of laugh that made Stiles’ heart skip a beat and he was very glad Derek was too preoccupied with his amusement to notice.

“Is this a good laugh or a bad laugh?” Stiles asked.

“Good laugh,” Derek choked out through continued chuckles, wiping at his streaming eyes.

“So does that mean you’ll do it?”

“Yeah,” Derek said, looking up at him with a smile that could stop wars. “Yeah, I’ll do it. Sounds like a good time to me. And, like you said, it’s definitely for a good cause.”

Stiles fist-pumped, already reveling in triumph at the thought of the looks that would be on those biphobic douchebags’ faces.

“I do have one condition, though.” Derek said.

“Anything, dude, you’re the best and I owe you, like, every favor on the planet.”

Derek’s smile widened, a gleam in his eye that made Stiles the tiniest bit hot under the collar.

“I get to pick your suit.”

(read the rest on AO3)

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