Chapter Text
Stiles Stilinski meets Scott Delgado on the first day of freshman orientation at Berkeley and immediately knows they’ll be best bros for life. When that prophecy still proves to be true as summer break rolls around, Scott invites Stiles to visit him in his hometown for a few weeks.
“Dude,” Stiles breathes when Scott picks him up from the airport, Scott’s arms wrapped around him in a hug as Stiles stares over his shoulder. “Is that your brother?”
Scott pulls away with a confused scrunch to his face, twists his neck to follow where Stiles’ eyes are fixated behind him before returning his gaze to Stiles’ wide eyes, his slack mouth.
“Yeah,” Scott says slowly, not following the thread of Stiles’ questioning. “Why?”
“You didn’t tell me he was hot.”
Scott retches so loudly a few people nearby them turn to look in disgust.
“Gross,” Scott declares, shoving Stiles lightly in the chest. “That’s my brother, man.”
“He’s not my brother.”
Scott sticks a firm finger directly in front of Stiles’ nose. He goes slightly cross-eyed to look at it.
“You are not allowed to sleep with him,” Scott says.
“You’re not the boss of me,” Stiles scoffs, slapping Scott’s hand away before grinning inanely. “Does that mean he’s into dudes?”
The corners of Scott’s mouth turn down in a comical expression of discontent.
“This conversation is over. Come on.”
Stiles all but trips over his own feet when Scott folds a hand around his elbow, tugs him forwards toward the actual Greek god waiting for them about fifty yards away, a scowl etched onto his unbelievably good-looking features. Stiles knows there’s a dopey smile on his face as he comes to a stop in front of the Adonis, but there’s absolutely nothing he can do to stop it.
“Stiles, this is Derek,” Scott introduces, still frowning. “Derek, Stiles.”
“Hi,” Stiles says breathlessly.
“Your flight was late,” Derek informs him with a glare. “I had to pay for extra parking.”
He grabs Stiles’ duffel bag out his hand, hoisting it onto his own shoulder and walking off before Stiles has the brain capacity to respond. His broad shoulders look incredible in his loose grey t-shirt, his ass downright delectable in those jeans. Stiles turns to Scott with heart-eyes.
“I think I’m in love,” Stiles tells him.
“I repeat,” Scott says, pulling Stiles along to the parking lot. “Gross.”
Derek doesn’t still live in his and Scott’s childhood home, but he sure hangs around a lot.
“I haven’t seen him around this much since he moved out five years ago,” Scott says around a mouthful of pizza rolls as they play video games in Scott’s bedroom. “Mom says he’s helping clear out the basement.”
“I’d let him clear out my basement,” Stiles says, cackling when it distracts Scott enough that he lands a headshot.
“I don’t want to know what you think that means,” Scott grumbles, dropping his controller on the bed next to him and flinging himself back against the mattress. “You’re incorrigible.”
Stiles tosses his own controller to the nightstand and flops down beside Scott, shoulder to shoulder, reaching across Scott’s chest to nab a pizza roll from the plate Ms Delgado brought up for them and stuffing it into his mouth messily.
“That word of the day calendar’s really working out for you, huh, buddy?”
Scott turns his neck to face Stiles, cheek against the comforter. Stiles mirrors the position, smacking his lips noisily as he chews.
“I think he likes you,” Scott admits, his lingering frown nowhere near as distressed as it was back at the airport. “He keeps looking at you any time you look away.”
“Awesome,” Stiles says happily. “Is this you giving us your blessing?”
Scott snorts. “You’ll have to convince Derek to let himself have something good for once first.”
That Derek is a tough cookie to crack, it must be said. It’s lucky that Stiles has the patience of a saint and the persistence of whatever the opposite of a saint is.
“Hi,” Stiles says, no less breathlessly than last time, sidling up to lean his hip against the kitchen counter next to where Derek is spreading mayo on rye. “Whatcha making?”
Derek scowls down at the bread in front of him like it’s personally offended him.
“A sandwich,” he answers, elaborating no further than that.
“Cool,” Stiles presses on, entirely undeterred. “Can I have one?”
Derek’s reply is non-verbal, no more than a grunt in the back of his throat, but he benevolently pulls out two more slices and gets to work.
They sit together at the kitchen table, just the two of them, Scott and his mom moseying around the grocery store for at least another half hour. A few chews in, Stiles knocks his knee against Derek’s under the table, smiling beatifically when Derek doesn’t pull his leg away.
“So what d’ya do for work, Derek?” Stiles makes conversation.
“I’m a consultant,” Derek says, sounding like it pains him.
“And what do you consult on?”
“Nothing I can explain to you.”
“Not with that attitude.” Stiles takes a large bite, forces himself to fully chew and swallow before he speaks again; he’s in wooing mode. “Do you live nearby?”
“I have an apartment a few blocks away.”
“I bet that sees a lot of action.”
Stiles winks, one corner of his mouth curved up in a leer. The tips of Derek’s ears tinge red and Stiles’ leer turns into an all-out beam.
“Nothing is going to happen between us,” Derek proclaims, avoiding Stiles’ eye.
“That’s awfully presumptuous of you,” Stiles says, then inches his chair a little closer. “Also, I disagree.”
“You’re Scott’s friend,” Derek tries next.
“Best friend, actually.”
“You’re nineteen.”
“Only until my next birthday.”
“You’ll be back at college in a month.”
“It’s only a few hours’ drive from here,” Stiles counters. “Though I’m glad to hear you’re thinking as long-term as I am.”
The red at Derek’s ears spreads down to his neck. He stands abruptly, depositing his plate into the dishwasher with a loud clatter before storming into the hallway, muttering just loud enough for Stiles to hear as he goes.
“I’m going back down to the basement.”
Stiles finishes the last few bites of his sandwich with a smile. It’s progress, he thinks.
Ms Delgado forces Derek to stay for dinner any time he hasn’t left by eight in the evening. Which ends up being every night so far, actually.
“How’s the clear out coming along?” she asks Derek over spaghetti and meatballs.
“Almost there,” Derek replies, rolling his eyes when Stiles and Scott have a mini scuffle for the last piece of garlic bread. “Just a few more boxes and I’ll be done.”
“That’s good,” she says, looking between him and Stiles meaningfully. “We’ll have to find you something else to work on after, seeing as you’re enjoying being here so much recently.”
“Mom,” Derek groans, suddenly transfixed on his plate.
“I didn’t say anything!” she protests, though the hint of a smirk sits at her lips.
“I’m sure we’ll find him something, Ms Delgado,” Stiles says brightly.
He knocks his knee against Derek’s under the table. Scott catches him and kicks him in the shin.
Derek hooks a foot around his ankle.
Now this – this is progress.
“He’s doing it on purpose, now, seriously.”
Scott wanders over to where Stiles is staring out of the window into the backyard. He peers at Stiles from the corner of his eye, eyebrows drawn together.
“He’s mowing the lawn,” Scott says, like he doesn’t understand how that explains anything.
“Yeah,” Stiles says, because that explains everything. “In a tank top. A dirty, white, tank top.”
“I wear tank tops sometimes,” Scott points out. “That doesn’t get you all hot and bothered.”
Stiles turns to him in revulsion. “Barf, dude.”
Scott rolls his eyes and shoves Stiles so that he falls on the couch by his legs.
“I’m going out with Kira tonight,” Scott says, collecting his jacket from the hook by the door and his keys from the dish on the coffee table. “Mom’s got the overnight shift at the hospital so she won’t be back until the morning.” He pauses in front of Stiles, puts hands on his hips and glares, nowhere near as impressively as his brother can manage. “Be good. All right?”
“I think you and I may have different definitions of good,” Stiles mentions with a shrug.
Scott huffs, heading for the door and calling over his shoulder, “Just not on my fucking bed.”
“No promises!” Stiles calls back.
Derek comes inside just as it starts to get dark out, sweaty and delicious looking, using the hem of his shirt to wipe at his forehead, revealing an abundance of muscles defined by the gods. Broad chest with a smattering of hair, insanely toned abs, a coarse, dark happy trail leading down into his sweatpants. Any focus Stiles had on the TV show he’d been watching for the past hour vanishes in an instant.
His mouth is hanging open when Derek walks into the living room, shirt sadly covering his torso once again, frowning between Stiles lounging across the couch and the trashy reality programme that had been occupying his attention up until a few moments ago.
“Where’s Scott?” Derek asks.
“Date,” Stiles answers, somehow able to find his voice.
“Mom?”
“Working until the morning.”
Derek nods. “I should go, then.”
“Or,” Stiles starts, leaping to his feet without putting too much thought into it. His legs tangle in his haste to stand and he stumbles forwards slightly, ending up closer to Derek than he initially intended – though he’s certainly not complaining. “You could stay? Maybe?”
They’re not quite toe-to-toe, but they’re not too far off. Standing this close together, Stiles can tell they’re almost the same height, Derek maybe has an inch or two on him at most. He can meet the hazel of Derek’s eyes directly, take in the high lines of his cheekbones, the sharp curve of his jaw, the strong slope of his nose. The way it all comes together to make up just about the hottest face Stiles has ever seen in his life.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Derek says.
“You’re really hot,” Stiles blurts out.
A muscle in Derek’s jaw twitches.
“I’ve noticed you think that,” he says slowly, carefully.
“Do you,” Stiles starts, cutting off to wet his lower lip nervously, a smile starting to form when he notices Derek tracking the movement with his eyes. “Do you think I’m hot?”
A few beats pass. Stiles sees the fingers on each of Derek’s hands flex in his peripheral.
“Yes,” he admits quietly, eventually.
“Cool,” Stiles breathes, taking a small step closer. “Glad we’re on the same page.”
“We’re not,” Derek grits out, but he doesn’t move away. “I don’t – Scott is my brother. I’m not just going to fuck one of his friends. His best friend, even.”
“I like you,” Stiles confesses, mustering up all of his courage to reach out and wrap one hand around the side of Derek’s neck, fist the other in the front of his shirt. “I’m not saying we have to get, like, married or anything. But it could be more than fucking.”
Derek’s hands come to clutch tentatively at Stiles’ hips, light fingers against the fabric of his t-shirt, thumbs sweeping to the skin underneath. Stiles takes Derek’s physical demonstration of assent and just runs with it, moving in closer until their chests are pressed against one another, until he can feel Derek’s hot breath against his mouth.
Derek tilts his face forwards to rub the tip of his nose against Stiles’ and Stiles uses every ounce of control he has in his body to stop his knees from buckling.
“It might be, uh,” Stiles starts, trying to collect his thoughts, an incredibly difficult task with the obscene hotness that is Derek Delgado all up in his business. “It might be fun to start with fucking, though?”
He thinks Derek must agree with that idea, because before he can catch his next breath, he knows what Derek’s tongue tastes like.
Stiles has only just managed to coax both of their shirts off when Scott ruins it by daring to return to his own home.
“Oh my god,” Scott groans, turning rapidly to face back towards the still open front door. “Did you have to be on my couch?”
“It’s my couch, too,” Derek mutters, removing his hands from the back of Stiles’ pants so that Stiles can clamber ungracefully from his lap.
“It hasn’t been your couch for five years, asshole.”
Stiles snorts softly, stretching to grab his t-shirt from the floor, collecting Derek’s on the stretch back and handing it over. After a few seconds they’re both (unfortunately) fully clothed once again, and Stiles spies the beginnings of panic rising in Derek’s eyes, so he reaches over to loop loose fingers around Derek’s wrist, rub the pad of his thumb against the underside. He sees Derek visibly untense at the touch.
“You can turn around now,” Stiles says, shuffling across the couch until his knees are tucked against Derek’s thigh. “No more nudity to offend your delicate sensibilities.”
Scott whirls back around with a glare, moving to the side to allow a giggling dark-haired girl to join him in the hallway, the door shutting behind them.
“Guys, this is Kira,” Scott says, a petulant note to his voice. “Kira, this is my asshole brother and my asshole best friend.”
“Nice to meet ya,” Stiles greets, raising his free hand with a smile.
“Nice to meet you, too,” she replies, smiling shyly just behind Scott’s shoulder. “Scott mentioned you might be together when we got back.”
“Aw, Scotty,” Stiles says, beaming at his friend. “I’m touched you have such confidence in my game.”
Scott just rolls his eyes and ignores him.
“Don’t you have your own apartment?” Scott sneers at Derek.
Derek turns to look at Stiles, an encouraging quirk to his eyebrow.
“You wanna?” he offers.
“Do you even have to ask,” Stiles answers, scrambling up so quickly he falls flat on his face.
If Stiles thought grinding down in Derek’s lap while making out on the couch was hot, it’s absolutely nothing compared to the feeling of being underneath Derek in a king-sized bed, tucked away in a blissfully empty, won’t-be-interrupted apartment.
He’s up on his knees, sheets bunched around them and cheek smushed against the pillow, elbows flat against the mattress to brace himself. Derek is behind him, over him, one hand solid between his shoulder blades and the other pressing three fingers inside him, mouth wet and open against the rising and falling curve of his ribs, scrape of stubble against the sensitive skin.
“Imagine if Scott had walked in on this,” Stiles can’t stop himself from saying.
The fact that Derek only stumbles in his movements for half a second bodes well for them. Stiles isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to truly control the words that come out of his mouth, especially not when his brain is all but mush like it is right now, so anyone planning to stick around needs the ability to digest, compartmentalise, and move swiftly on.
“If you mention Scott again, I’m throwing you out of bed.”
Stiles snorts. Or tries to. It comes out as more of a hopelessly turned on, breathy laugh.
“Liar,” he declares confidently. “You want me here.”
Derek doesn’t reply immediately. Instead, he pulls his fingers out of Stiles, grabs for the condom on the nightstand and rolls it over himself, one hand gripping Stiles' hip and the other clutched to his shoulder after he's lined himself up behind Stiles and started to slide home, agonisingly slow.
Stiles fists hands into the sheets, lets out any and every noise that bubbles up his throat because he can tell Derek likes it, rocks backwards to take every inch greedily. Derek’s fingers dig into the meat of his shoulder, tickle up the side of his neck to grab and tug at his hair, angle him in a way that has Stiles incoherent, incapable of saying anything other than ah and fuck and Derek.
His elbows slip underneath him when Derek leans down, plasters the sweaty planes of his chest against Stiles’ back, snapping his hips into him in short, sharp, wonderful bursts of pleasure, mouth whisper-hot against the shell of Stiles’ ear.
“I do,” Derek admits quietly. “God fucking help me, I do.”
Stiles is taken to the airport by both brothers when his visit comes to an end. Derek tries to grumble about the price of parking again, but this time Stiles gets to cut the half-hearted complaint off with a firm mouth and maybe just a hint of tongue.
“It’s still so weird that you’re sleeping with my brother,” Scott says with a frown when Derek is giving them space to say goodbye under the guise of grabbing a coffee for the drive home.
“I’m dating your brother,” Stiles corrects, smiling so wide his cheeks ache. “There’s feelings and everything.”
“Yeah, well," Scott argues mulishly. "Your version of dating hasn’t involved all that many dates outside of Derek’s bed so far.”
“Just think,” Stiles says, pointedly ignoring Scott's jibe and nudging their shoulders together. “One day we could be brothers-in-law.”
A wide smile splits across Scott’s face. “I didn’t think of that.”
“See!” Stiles says triumphantly. “I’m doing your brother for the good of our friendship.”
Scott’s smile is replaced by a grimace. “You ruined it again.”
Stiles dives in to give Scott a crushing hug as Derek slinks up beside them. When he pulls back, Derek slips his duffel over his shoulder and leans in to kiss him soundly.
“You should go, your flight’ll be boarding soon,” Derek says, annoyingly sensible.
Stiles pouts. “But you’ll visit the first weekend we’re back at college, right?”
“The second,” Derek says, biting back a smile when Stiles’ lower lip juts out further. “You need to get settled in first, Stiles.”
“Ugh, fine,” Stiles concedes, throwing his arms around Derek and burying his face in his neck. “But we’re sexiling Scott for the whole weekend.”
“This is my nightmare,” Scott sighs. Stiles ignores it in favour of kissing Derek again.
As he makes his way over to departures, body twisted so he can wave at the jostling siblings behind him, really just hoping for the best that there are no obstacles in his path forwards, he thinks – a best friend and a boyfriend, all wrapped up in one neat little Delgado family unit.
Not too shabby, Stilinski. Not too shabby.