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It’s Derek’s second day on the job, and he’s spent the last 15 minutes in a supply closet looking for sticky notes. Never did he think he would need to use so many Post-its, but somehow at this new job he’s used a whole half a pack in the last two days alone.
The shelf labeled “Sticky Notes,” is empty, but he finally spies a box wedged in the back corner behind a pile of binders, and he pulls them out triumphantly as another guy comes into the closet behind him.
Oh no. It’s the guy.
The guy with the horribly attractive cheekbones and artfully dotted moles along the side of his face. The guy who can’t seem to keep still in his cubicle, causing Derek to keep getting distracted and look away from his work. His distraction has nothing to do with the way the guy’s rolled-up sleeves show off his toned forearms every time he stretches. It doesn’t.
Derek also definitely didn’t go through the employee directory to find out what the guy’s name is. It’s Stiles. What kind of name is Stiles?
Derek pauses, staring at Stiles for just a beat too long.
The guy raises an eyebrow at him. “Hi?”
Derek’s an idiot. “Hi,” he says back, before wildly waving the Post-its wildly in the air and turning to leave the room in total mortification.
He doesn’t even make it out before he hears a “Hey, wait!” from behind him.
Derek turns around to see Stiles with his hands in his pockets, staring intently at him.
“Who are you?” Stiles asks, narrowing his eyes at Derek suspiciously.
“I’m Derek,” Derek responds. He leaves out I sit across from you. I’ve known your name since my first day. “I’m new.”
Stiles smirks. “Figured you must be. Well, since you’re new, I’ll give you a little tip. If you want to move up here, you’ve got to respect your elders.”
Derek quirks an eyebrow up at him. “Respect my elders?”
Stiles nods. “Yeah, those who have been here before you. Like, for example, I’m Stiles, and I’ve been here for two years.”
“Okay…” Derek says slowly.
“And that,” Stiles continues, pointing at the Post-it package in Derek’s hands, “Is the last set of Post-it notes. And seeing as I’ve been here longer than you…”
Derek deflates. He’d been hoping Stiles wanted to have an actual conversation with him, but apparently not. “You want me to give them to you,” Derek states slowly.
“You get it!” Stiles says. He takes a step towards Derek, giving him an easy smile. “Thanks, dude.”
“No,” Derek says suddenly. Just because the guy is absurdly cute doesn’t mean Derek is going to just give in to him.
Stiles freezes. “No?”
“No,” Derek says, standing up straighter. He clears his throat. “I got them first.”
Stiles tilts his head to the side, appraising him. “Well, I got to the company first.”
“I’m older,” Derek states immediately, before wincing slightly.
Stiles pauses. “Not gonna ask how you know that, dude. But…I’m cuter,” he says, and winksat Derek.
Derek speaks before he even knows what he’s saying. “Well, I’m stronger,” he manages, in a voice that he hopes sounds somewhat threatening.
Stiles looks him up and down, eyes trailing over Derek’s chest. “Yes, you are,” he smirks. Derek falters for a moment, but then Stiles circles around him and says, “But I’m adorable. Just look at this face.”
Derek takes a step back and lifts the sticky notes over his head. “I’m not going to give them to you,” he announces. “I don’t care about your superiority or your button nose.”
Stiles chuckles gleefully. “Gonna make me work for it, Derek?”
Derek pins him with a look and nods, slowly.
Stiles takes a step forward and reaches up for the notes. Derek pulls backwards and lifts the notes higher.
“Oh, come on,” Stiles groans. He reaches, and misses, again. “That’s not fair. Get your stupidly toned arms down here.”
“Get your ridiculous hands out of my face,” Derek retorts.
“What’s wrong with my hands?” Stiles asks, leaping up.
Derek snorts, losing his filter entirely. “Have you seen them? They’re obscene.”
Stiles stops reaching for the notes. Derek suddenly becomes very aware that they’re in a closet, alone, together, standing only a few inches apart. He can feel Stiles’ breath, ragged from exertion, on his own face. He looks at Stiles for just a moment too long-and all of a sudden, Stiles is kissing him.
Stiles is kissing him. In the supply closet. On Derek’s second day on the job. This is unprofessional. This is a bad idea. He shouldn’t be doing this, but-
Derek is helpless against this. Stiles’s lips are warm and inviting, and Derek’s arms involuntarily come down to curl around Stiles’s waist. He darts his tongue out to taste Stiles’s lips, when-all of a sudden, they’re gone. Derek feels the sticky notes slide from his hands as Stiles grabs them and flees from the closet, laughing maniacally.
Derek stares at the space that Stiles was occupying moments before, dumbfounded. Stiles just conned him into giving away his Post-its. He’s been kiss-conned.
Derek doesn’t leave the closet until some guy named Greenberg comes in a few minutes later looking for a highlighter. He manages not to look at Stiles for the rest of the day.
—
When Derek comes into work the next day, there’s a small set of Post-its sitting on his desk.
He eyes it warily. On the top one is written, “Thanks for giving me the rest! ;)” Derek frowns at it and glances over to Stiles’ desk, where he sees Stiles quickly turn away as if pretending he wasn’t just looking at him.. Derek rips off the top sticky note and throws it in the trash.
He thinks that’s the end of Stiles’ interactions, but he thinks wrong.
—
At lunchtime, Derek goes into the break room to get his lunch out of the refrigerator. He reaches for his paper bag with his name on it, but pauses when he sees the Tupperware container sitting next to it. On the Tupperware is a Post-it note that says,
“Derek- Left you some pie. Enjoy -Stiles.”
Derek stares at it for a moment, dumbfounded. The longer he stares at it, the angrier he gets. Stiles thinks he can take advantage of his new status at the company, flirt with him in a closet, kiss-con him, and then bribe him back into good graces with food?
He glances behind him, and when he’s sure the coast is clear, so he opens the container. It’s strawberry rhubarb pie. Derek loves strawberry rhubarb. He looks back at his paper bag, which he knows only contains a soggy turkey sandwich, and then back at the pie.
With a sigh, he puts his paper bag back and scarfs down the pie before he can be found out. The pie is delicious, and Derek swears Stiles tasted a little bit liked it when he kissed him the previous day.
Before he leaves, Derek takes a new sticky note and writes on it before sticking it back on the Tupperware and putting the container back in the fridge.
“The pie was stale.” Derek lies. He’s not going to be played by Stiles.
—
The next morning, there’s a coffee sitting on Derek’s desk. Stiles isn’t at his own desk, but the note on Derek’s coffee cheerily says. “Got an extra this morning! –S”
Derek sniffs it suspiciously. It’s black. Derek likes black coffee, and he’s pretty tired. But Derek is not about to give in, so he takes his own sticky note, writes on it, and sticks it to the cup.
“I prefer tea,” it reads.
He walks over, feigning a confidence he definitely doesn’t feel, and sets it on Stiles’ desk without a word.
After he sits back down, he doesn’t look back up again for the rest of the day.
—-
Derek thinks he’s probably shut down the insincere Post-it notes for good, but when he gets in the next morning, there’s another cup on his desk. With a sticky note on it, of course.
The Post-it reads, “Here you go, Grumpy Pants.”
Derek peeks inside. It’s tea. He falters. He can’t not drink it-he has no excuses-he said he liked tea. And Stiles is sitting right across from him, Derek can see him in his periphery.
Derek sighs audibly before picking it up and taking a sip. He can feel Stiles’s eyes on him, but he refuses to make eye contact. Except…the tea is so good, and Stiles’ eyes are boring holes in him, so he glances up for a half a second and-Stiles has a grin on his face. It’s a pretty cute grin.
Before he can stop himself, Derek feels the corners of his mouth tug up into a small smile of his own. Stiles’ smiles even wider and Derek’s heart flips.
Crap. He’s so sunk.
—-
Derek debates what he should do about Stiles for the rest of the morning. He stares at blank spreadsheets and gets no work done. He’d thought that Stiles was goading him, messing with him, but it maybe Stiles’ gestures were genuine? Maybe he felt badly about taking advantage of Derek? Maybe he liked it?
Derek has to know. His work performance is suffering, and he needs to find out what’s going on in Stiles’ head. At lunchtime, he sees Stiles leave his desk, and Derek takes advantage of his absence to stick a post-it note onto the middle of his keyboard.
“The Printer is out of ink” it says.
What he means by it is that Stiles should meet him in the supply closet, but he’s not really sure if that comes across. It’s the most forward Derek can handle being, though, and he hopes it’s good enough.
When Stiles comes back from lunch, Derek resists the temptation to watch him read his note. Instead, he immediately stands up and makes his way to the supply closet.
When he gets there, he waits nervously, heart rabbiting in his chest. He hears footsteps coming down the hall and crosses his arms in front of the shelf for extra ink.
Stiles comes walking in and shuts the closet door behind him. Derek’s heart rate increases. “There’s only one more color ink cartridge,” he blurts out.
Stiles just looks at him and his defensive stance for a moment before chuckling heartily. “The printer’s not actually out of ink, you know.”
Derek shifts slightly, color rushing to his cheeks. “I know.”
Stiles cocks his head to one side. “That’s okay though. I’ll kiss you again anyway.”