(Written for the @sterekwriters Summer Bingo for the prompts “beach vacation” and “ice cream.” Thank you to @bleep0bleep and @spellwovennight for the beta! Word count: 995)
Derek tossed the duffel bags into the bedroom and flicked on
the fans. He’d had someone come out and clean up the beach house and air it out,
but it still smelled a little too much like cleaning supplies and stale air for
his tastes.
He went back out to the main room, where Stiles stood between
the living room and the kitchen, surveying the house with his hands shoved in
his back pockets. “I can’t believe you have a beach house sitting out here
that no one knows about.”
Derek shrugged. “Mom and Dad had a lot of property, and
Laura and I didn’t exactly go through everything before we left for New York. I
just knew about this one because we took family vacations here.”
Stiles nodded. “So, what, you’re saying you could have
a Hale house in every state and you probably don’t know about it?”
Derek snorted a laugh. “Yeah, probably.”
Stiles shook his head, but he was grinning. The sight
loosened something in Derek’s chest.
“Maybe next time Dad tells you to take me out of town,
you can drag me to a ski resort or something,” Stiles said.
“I’ll see what I can dig up.”
***
The sheriff had come to Derek three weeks ago,
tense-shouldered and grim-mouthed.
“He hasn’t gotten a decent night’s sleep in
months,” he’d said without any preamble. “He needs to get out of
here, and I can’t take him. Can you?”
Derek hadn’t hesitated. “Of course.”
It looked as though a weight had dropped off the sheriff’s
shoulders. He wiped a shaking hand over his face. “Thank God. I can’t take
off more than three days right now, and he needs…”
Derek understood, without Sheriff Stilinski having to say
anymore. Stiles would need longer than that.
“I’ll take care of him,” he’d said.
The sheriff had clapped him on the shoulder. “Thank
you, son.”
here’s my first post for the sterekwriter’s summer bingo event! This one is the square “mosquitos.” Enjoy!
When Stiles wakes up in his tent only a few hours after falling asleep, he recognizes immediately that he completely fucked up.
Stiles apparently shouldn’t have been in charge of closing Scott and his tent before passing out, because of course, he had completely forgotten. And now, well. Now he’s covered completely in mosquito bites. All over. Some are even on his thighs and one is on his cheek.
Now he’s sitting back in the tent that had to be shaken out to rid itself of other critters that ended up all over the two of them. He scratches at his upper arm and then moves onto his neck. Scott had told him he didn’t smell any diseases, at least, which is good, but he’ll be stuck with being a human scratching post for the rest of their pack trip.
The flap of the tent opens up and Derek, face always passive but slightly judgemental, comes in and sits down next to him. He’s wearing jeans still, and a plain black v-neck which is astronomically tight on him. Stiles distracts himself from the sight by frowing at Derek’s face.
“Hey,” Stiles says, feeling just a bit sour, which he thinks is for good reason. “I don’t want to hear anything from you right now, so feel free to leave if you’re going to comment on my current state.”
“Do you want any help?” Derek asks him instead, which is weird. He nods without thinking though, and Derek leans closer, face inches from his skin.
“Now don’t tell me werewolves can suck out the venom from mosquito bites too.” If he’s being honest, he’s slightly hopeful that that’s the case.
Derek looks at him like he’s crazy. Maybe he has gone a little bit off his rocker, but the itching is enough to drive even Scott insane. “I can stop the itching.”
“Please do,” Stiles begs, voice going a little reedy.
“It’s going to be… weird, though,” Derek adds.
“Hey dude, anything to stop this. I’m miserable.” Stiles Stilinski is not above begging at this time.
Derek eyes flit over his skin and he leans in even closer, begging for Stiles to comment on personal space. But Stiles isn’t about to screw up a possibility of relief.
When Derek’s tongue shoots out and rubs over the skin of Stiles’s bicep, he almost jerks back, but Derek holds him still. Almost immediately, he feels relief. “Okay, good. Fine, continue.” Derek huffs a laugh against the skin he had just licked and it feels cool and really good.
He continues, and when Derek gets to his leg, it’s a bit weird, but it feels too good to comment on. Derek’s tongue is smooth and runs over and over to get rid of the last of the itching. Soon, the only part left is Stiles’s neck, and this time, Derek pauses before moving on. He stares into Stiles’s eyes.
“Is this okay?” Derek asks, only centimeters from Stiles’s neck.
“Please,” Stiles asks without thinking, craning his neck. His skin heats up as Derek looks him up and down, eyes going dark. He puts a steady hand on Stiles’s shoulder, before leaning in again. The next swipe takes away the itching on his neck which had been the worst out of all of them. Derek leaves his mouth against Stiles’s neck this time, mouthing at the skin slightly. And there’s no itching. He sighs gratefully, grabbing at Derek with one hand.
Before he knows it, time has slowed, and they’re suddenly kissing. Derek freezes at first but then catches up with the program, pressing them together. Stiles feels like this is a win-win situation for him because, god, he’s wanted to kiss Derek for years. His mouth is soft and his beard scratches slightly against his chin.
“Good,” Stiles whispers against Derek’s mouth. “This is awesome.”
“Not so awesome for me!” Scott yells just outside the tent. “I wanted to take a nap guys!”
Derek growls against Stiles’s neck, making the skin tingle. “Not now, Scott,” he orders and Scott makes a noise of discontent before shuffling off.
After Scott is gone, Derek and Stiles pull apart slowly, but Derek keeps a hand on Stiles’s shoulder. He looks Stiles up and down. “You look like you have chicken pox.”
Stiles slams his forehead into Derek’s chest. “Dude, shut up.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little weird,” Derek asks, as the hammock they’re laying in together sways gently. “That we don’t know where each other are from when we’re not on vacation?”
Stiles considers it for a moment before he brings Derek’s hand that’s wrapped around his shoulders to his lips and presses a kiss there.
“No, not really. What if we’re from opposite sides of the country? It would have ruined any hope of a future for us.”
“Do you want there to be a future for us?” Derek asks quietly.
Stiles thinks about the last week he’s had in Hawaii. Thinks about meeting Derek in the hotel bar after his meetings were done for the day. Thinks about the afternoons and evenings they have spent together since then, getting closer and sharing so much about themselves.
Everything, it seems, but where they’re from.
Derek is in Hawaii for an retreat with his accounting firm. He’s the middle child in a big family who gets teased for his quiet job and quiet life. His hobbies include yoga, eating healthy, reading and rescuing dogs.
Stiles is in Hawaii for a bakery owners conference. He’s an only child who watches out for his dad and gets teased by his best friend for his tendency to stay in and play video games instead of trying to meet people. His hobbies include running his bakery, watching Netflix, cheering for the Mets and visiting his best friend at work.
“I’d like that very much,” Stiles admits, suddenly unwilling to imagine his life without the beautiful man laying with him that approached him in a bar less than a week ago.
“Tomorrow then,” Derek says decisively, “at the airport, we tell each other where we’re going home to and then we’ll take it from there.”
Stiles crawls into the hammock, careful not to spill the beers in his hand as he settles against Derek’s chest.
“You know, I really like this thing,” he admits, “even if it’s not in Hawaii.”
Derek laughs and it vibrates through Stiles where they’re pressed up against each other.
“Gotta admit, it’s still pretty great in Beacon Hills, California,” Derek offers.
“Eh, I don’t think it would half as great if you weren’t here with me,“Stiles counters, snuggling closer into his boyfriend’s side.
“I promised that day in the airport we’d make it work, it just made it all the better that we were from the same town.”
(Written for the pack pool party, water balloon, and backyard grilling squares on the @sterekwriters summer bingo cards. Thank you to @bleep0bleep for looking it over! Word count: 1320 (oops))
“Cannonball!”
Derek winced at the wave of water that washed over the edge
of the pool. A moment later, Erica poked her head up, laughing gaily.
“Lydia’s going to kill you if you get her bag
wet,” Derek pointed out.
Erica wiped her hair out of her face. “If she didn’t
want her bag to get wet, she shouldn’t have left it that close to the
pool.”
Derek rolled his eyes. “Yeah, let me know how that
argument goes over.”
“I’m gonna kill you assholes!” Jackson yelled from
the other side of the yard.
Derek looked up to see Jackson, dripping wet, running after
Isaac and Boyd with an armful of water balloons and murder in his eyes. Isaac
and Boyd were laughing so hard they could barely run.
“Jeez, Jackson, how many did they get you with?”
Derek called.
“Fuck you, Hale!” Jackson yelled back.
“You couldn’t pay me enough to do that,
Whittemore,” Cora said, and Derek turned to see her coming out of the back
of the house with an armload of burgers and brats. “Where do you want the
meat?”
“Next to the grill,” Derek said. “It’s almost
ready.”
“Awesome.” Cora set the sheet of meat next to the
grill with an exaggerated groan. “So Allison and Miss Priss–”
Derek tugged on her ponytail. “You keep calling her that, people are going to think
you have a crush.”
Cora made a face and batted his hand away. “Allison and Lydia are chopping up the shit for
the burgers, Melissa and Scott just rolled up with dessert, and Scott says
Stiles and the sheriff are on their way with the chips, salad, and
drinks.”
“Good.” Derek hooked his arm around her neck and
pulled her into a one-armed hug. “You want to join Erica in the
pool?”
Cora grinned and patted his chest. “Nah, I’m going to
see how fast I can pelt the boys with water balloons.”
“Oh, count me in!” Erica said, clambering out of
the pool.
The beach was the ideal getaway destination when northern Californian summers got too hot.
Except if you were Stiles.
He hated the beach. Hated it.
His pale skin never tanned, only burned no matter how much sunscreen he applied. It was always overcrowded, families of overcompensating middle-aged parents with their obnoxious children running around crazy. It was too loud, those same insufferable kids constantly, seagulls squawking incessantly.
He hated it.
The fact that he was there with a pack of supernaturally attractive Abercrombie and Fitch swimsuit models didn’t help, either.
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