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Entry tags:
You're Doing It Wrong
Title: You're Doing It Wrong
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Characters/Pairing: Sterek, Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Jackson Whittemore, Isaac Lahey
Prompt: Derek and Stiles are teachers somewhere. Derek is obviously the music teacher, and Stiles is also obviously the gym teacher. Derek likes to tell Stiles he's doing it wrong.
--
It all starts with a ransacked music room. It's not trashed, exactly, so much as it is simply... different. The educational posters have been plastered over with other, trendier educational posters, the furniture has been rearranged, and his lesson plans have gone missing and been replaced with ones that, while very detailed and very inspired, are definitely not the same ones he spent ages slaving over for the past few weeks.
Really, the biggest problem is that everything in his classroom is very much not his, right down to the writing on the whiteboard, where it proclaims in a messy but legible script, "No, YOU’RE doing it wrong, JERKFACE."
Derek Hale closes his eyes and slowly, carefully counts to ten. When he opens them gingerly, the message is still there.
No matter what the other teachers like to say, Derek doesn't actually keep a super-secret diary full of lists of all the people he's going to ax-murder in the dead of the night. Still, just for a moment, Derek wishes that he did, just so he could have the pleasure of putting the name Stiles Stilinski at the top of the list.
--
Okay, it had actually all started on Derek’s first day, a week before the beginning of term, when Derek had wandered into the gymnasium in a sort of self-guided tour.
He was staring around, reminiscing on all the things he'd tried so hard to forget, when he heard footsteps approaching behind him.
"Hey," called a voice, out of breath. "You must be the new music teacher. Hale, right?"
"Derek," he allowed, and turned, only to feel a punch in his stomach as his internal organs tried to rearrange themselves. Or something.
"Nice to meet you, Derek," the man before him said, brown eyes crinkling with laughter. "I'm Stiles Stilinski, in charge of P. E." He was still panting a little, his whole body rocking with the movement, mouth open and smiling, cheeks flushed, hair damp.
Derek knew he was staring, but he couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes away. Stiles seemed to be waiting for a response, so Derek eventually managed to nod at him awkwardly, shoving his suddenly sweaty hands into his pockets.
Fortunately, this was apparently all Stiles required to launch into an endless introductory speech, complete with wild arm-flailing and the occasional full-body shimmy, which definitely didn't make Derek's pulse speed up, because that would be ridiculous.
Stiles had finally stopped speaking again, and was looking to Derek for input.
Derek floundered for something intelligent to say. Most of his brain was stuck around variations of marry me, which was probably not conducive to any kind of personal future happiness. How do you casually indicate to someone that you're interested in romantic involvement without ruining your life through an inevitable and embarrassing rejection? How do you speak to someone attractive while seeming calm (and also attractive)? How do you ask out your colleague while not being entirely certain of the relevant laws on workplace relationships?
"Your set-up in here is breaking about three public safety regulations." Holy shit, what was he saying. "Do you actually have a Physical Education degree, or is this a case of an underfunded department being taken over by the art teacher?" Shut up, shut up, shut up--"Because, regardless, you're doing it wrong."
Oh my god.
Derek remained frozen in horror as the silence stretched out. He could barely breathe as he took in Stiles' wide brown eyes, his still-open mouth no longer smiling, his whole body stiff in hurt and shock. Even in some alternate universe where Derek magically had the social skills to hold a basic conversation without causing an apocalypse, he wouldn't know how to fix this.
And then it was too late, anyway, because Stiles' smile was back, all teeth.
--
Isaac still finds the whole situation hilarious, even after Derek shows him the rearranged classroom.
"Looks to me like he did you a favor. Maybe now your kids won't be yawning through the entire class."
"It wasn't that bad," Derek protests, offended despite himself. "I guess it was a little... stiff, but I'm still trying to find my footing here."
"Yeah, and Stilinski found that footing for you. You should send him a thank-you card."
"You're not helping, Isaac."
"You mean I'm not helping you justify your creepy self-entitlement issues? Shame on me."
"He broke into my classroom! This is private property."
"It's the school's property, Derek."
"Well, it has my private property in it. He stole my lesson plans!"
"Maybe he'll give them back if you apologize to him."
Derek clenches his jaw in frustration. If he knew how to apologize for what he'd said, he'd have done it already, Isaac.
"Oops, sorry, I said the a-word. Should I put a penny in the swear jar?"
"Put in a damn dollar," snaps Derek--just as his students begin to file into the classroom.
I hate my life, Derek thinks as he shoves Isaac out of the room while his students alternate between gaping in horror and smirking, smug with the new blackmail material. I really, really hate my life.
--
“I should have just asked him to marry me,” Derek says glumly into his Minute Maid orange juice. “It couldn’t have turned out worse than this.”
Isaac chokes on his cafeteria-bought lunch. “Why was marriage even on the table?”
“Because I’m broken. I need a personality smith to come forge me a new set of social skills.”
"No shit, Hale," says Jackson, rolling his eyes. Jackson is always throwing profanities around, and yet it's Derek who ends up getting a public dressing down for saying "damn" in front of his students. What is his life. "You're looking at this from completely the wrong angle." When he fails to get an enthused reaction from his hint of impending advice, he sighs, stares at the cafeteria ceiling as though asking the bare support beams for guidance--they have none on offer, Derek's already been there--and continues with, "So, what Stilinski did, it was a prank, Hale. And when people prank you, what do you do?"
"...Promptly notify the relevant authorities?" Derek tries. Isaac facepalms.
Jackson's default smug-asshole expression is briefly taken over by his derisive-asshole expression. "What? No! Jesus. You one-up their prank, retard."
Derek frowns. "Isn't that against the rules?" Isaac and Jackson exchange a look. "I'm new here; I have a reputation as a positive educational influence to build, I--stop laughing, you assholes."
Derek hears a gasp behind him and, after taking a fortifying breath, turns to see one of his students staring at him judgingly.
(Isaac and Jackson don't stop laughing.)
--
Derek grew up in Beacon Hills, it's true, but all his old friendships here fell through during the years he lived in New York. By the time he finally settled on moving back, he didn't know anyone he could call on for help getting a foot in the door of the local school system. That's where Isaac came in.
Isaac Lahey is, apparently, the "bro" of the boyfriend of his little sister's best friend, which is definitely not a legitimate connection in any way, Cora, but somehow Isaac helped Derek get the job, helped Derek prepare for the job, helped Derek meet people at the job, and is now helping Derek out of the mess that is Derek meeting people (at the job). Isaac, despite his quick temper and cutting remarks, is quickly growing to be one of Derek's closest friends, and through him, Derek has occasionally been able to succeed in socializing with people without instantly winning the top position of their hit list. Against all odds, Jackson is one of these people.
Case in point:
Derek was sitting alone in the staffroom on his first day, eating his packed lunch in relative peace while trying desperately not to think of his disastrous self-introduction with the stupidly attractive P. E. teacher, when Isaac entered the room, dragging another staff member along behind him.
"Derek," said Isaac, grinning. "I'd like you to meet Scott McCall. He--"
"Oh my god, Isaac, I'm capable of speaking, you know." The man shook himself loose and collapsed gracelessly onto the bench across from Derek, shooting him an uncertain smile. "Yeah, so I'm Scott. I'm the fifth grade teacher."
"As if, McCall." Another man settled on Derek's right, sitting across from Isaac. He turned slightly towards Derek, the angle carefully calculated to emphasize his chiseled jaw, and shot Derek a grin that looked as though it'd been painstakingly practiced in a mirror. "I'm Jackson Whittemore," the man said, extending a hand to shake, "Yes, of the Whittemores. I'm the fifth grade teacher; McCall is just a babysitter."
Based on the way Scott was gritting his teeth, it was an old battle. "Just because I embrace the idea of learning through fun, Jackson..."
Derek could see Jackson gearing up for a long winded argument, and it took about point zero zero one seconds to decide he really didn't want to sit through this. "I'm sure there are merits to both approaches."
Scott and Jackson both glared at him, and he spent the next forty-five minutes listening to exactly why he was wrong. He should have just stood up and left when he had the chance.
--
Derek stares around the gymnasium, wondering if he's missed anything. He'd spent hours meticulously rearranging the entire set-up of all the sports rooms, reordering and relabelling all the equipment, and, naturally, replacing Stiles' lesson plans with his own carefully drawn up versions. At the very least, he decides as he closes the doors gently behind him, the rooms are now fully up-to-date with all public safety mandates.
Derek's nervous. Of course he's nervous. He's supposed to be nervous. But somehow, it's not the worry of getting caught interfering with another teacher's materials that's bothering him; instead, he can't stop himself from wondering what Stiles' reaction will be when he sees what Derek has done, whether or not he'll like the new set-up, and what he'll think of the lesson plans Derek left behind.
Derek isn't a P.E. teacher, it's true, but he's spent enough time helping first his aunt and now his cousin Malia run the local gym that he sort of... well, he knows the field of physical fitness frontways and sideways and all the ways, really. He knows his plans are good, is confident about them in a way he never was about his music plans, but... what if Stiles doesn't like them? What if this makes Stiles even angrier? Of course he'll be angry, Derek was just fucking with his shit. Damnit, what is he doing? Derek may be new, but even he knows better than to take advice from Jackson, for fuck's sake.
Derek wheels around, half running back to the gym. Maybe he can put everything back in time. At least he can return Stiles' lesson plans. Maybe Stiles somehow won't notice the rest, maybe--
When Derek opens the door to the little office adjacent to the gym, Stiles doesn't notice. He's staring down at the sheet of paper gripped in his hands, wide-eyed with shock. But then, slowly, he starts to smile, a blush crawling onto his cheeks.
Derek sneaks out again, closing the door as quietly as he can.
--
Derek makes a beeline for where Jackson and Scott are bickering while Isaac stands beside them, blithely ignoring them both in favor of his phone. Derek nods in greeting to Scott and Isaac, then interrupts Jackson’s rant in order to inform him that, “I hate you.”
Scott blinks at him, momentarily stunned. Jackson just rolls his eyes. “No you don’t, fucktard.” He eyes his watch in an obvious movement that’s clearly designed to show off how expensive it is. “What’s up? I can pretend to care for about ten more minutes.”
Derek doesn’t let Jackson’s indifference get to him--he has sisters. “I cannot believe I listened to you when you told me to prank him back. He’s going to hate me forever now, no matter what I--”
“Hang on,” Isaac cuts in, suddenly paying attention, “I thought you said he smiled when he saw what you’d done? Doesn’t sound like he hates you to me.”
“No, seriously, hang on,” says Jackson. “Isn’t that totally the point?” When everyone stares at him, he frowns back. “Wait, you want Stilinski to like you?”
“...Yes?” Derek manages.
Isaac sniggers. “Dude, were you not there when Derek was regretting not proposing marriage when he had the chance?”
“I wasn’t listening to you dumbasses. Ew. Why the fuck?”
Derek groans and collapses against the wall, closing his eyes. “I don’t know, maybe because he’s perfect?”
Jackson gives a disgusted-sounding sort, while Scott and Isaac remain conspicuously silent.
“I mean,” Derek tries again, “He’s funny and friendly and smart, he’s gorgeous, he has the nicest smile…”
“No, no,” says Isaac, “‘Gorgeous’ has an ‘e’ after the second ‘g.’”
Derek’s eyes snap open. Isaac is leaning over Scott’s shoulder as Scott presumably types everything Derek’s saying verbatim into his phone. “What--”
“Oh, didn’t I mention it before, Derek?” asks Isaac, smiling brightly. “Scott and Stiles have been best friends since they were both in kindergarten.”
“Not that long, then,” mutters Jackson.
“Regardless,” Isaac rolls his eyes at Jackson, “telling one of them is the same as telling the other. I swear, they share a brain.”
Derek can’t speak. He’s frozen, mouth dry, staring at the phone like it’s an instrument of murder.
Which, considering…
The phone vibrates with an incoming test. Scott reads it, grinning, then says, “Hey guys, we’re gonna be late if we don’t get moving. Talk to you later?”
Derek’s mouth moves soundlessly. What did he say? What does he think of it? What does he think of me? How does he feel about eloping, hypothetically?
Isaac drags him out of the room, laughing.
--
Derek is cleaning up the music room at the end of the day, absently whistling to himself, when he suddenly realizes he’s not alone. Stiles Stilinski is leaning in the doorway, watching him.
“Hey,” Stiles says, smirking when he sees that Derek has noticed him, “Your whistling is ridiculously out of tune, you know that?”
Derek winces, straightening up to prepare himself for the inevitable.
“Are you even a music teacher,” Stiles continues, “or is this a case an underfunded department being taken over by a total asshole?”
“The latter one,” Derek admits grudgingly. “My degrees are in Elementary Education and English Lit.”
Stiles looks perversely delighted. “You’re shitting me.” And how is Derek the only one who ever gets caught using profanities? “What, were you projecting your nerves all over me before?”
“I don’t know. I guess so. I was nervous. Even ignoring the whole music thing, I wasn’t really sure how to handle teaching older kids.” At Stiles’ questioning look, Derek explains, “I taught first grade back in New York.”
Stiles’ mouth drops open, and his eyes widen in laughter. Derek rolls his eyes at the expression, trying to ignore the twisting in his stomach it causes.
“Oh my god,” Stiles manages. “Are there pictures? Tell me there are pictures.”
“Yeah, I have a few.”
Stiles collapses into giggles. Derek huffs in feigned irritation and goes back to cleaning up, feeling his shoulders relax.
Eventually, Stiles manages to calm himself down enough to speak again. “So, uh, those lesson plans you made for me. They were… they were really good.”
Derek ducks his head and smiles. “Thanks. So were yours.”
“I mean, you seem to know a lot more about P. E. than music. Kind of ironic.”
“My extended family owns a gym,” Derek shrugs. “I spent a lot of time there as a kid. What about you?”
“Me?”
Derek smirks. “You seem to know a lot more about music than you do about P. E.”
Stiles scowls and crosses his arms over his chest. “I do have a degree in Physical Education, you douchenozzle. Well, a minor.”
“Uh huh.”
“My, uh, my main focus was in Criminal Justice.”
“What.”
Stiles flushes a little. “My dad is the Sheriff here, you know. I just wanted to…” Stiles trails off uncertainly.
“I get it.” Derek grabs his bag, heading for the door. He stops in front of Stiles, takes a deep breath, and looks up, meeting Stiles’ eyes. “I’m sorry for what I said before. It was inappropriate and unjustified. I didn’t mean it.”
Stiles’ face has gone blank. “Then why did you say it?”
“Other than me projecting?”
Stiles’ cold facade breaks when his lips twitch, but he remains silent.
“I… I just never learned how to talk to attractive people, I guess.” At that, Stiles turns bright pink, and Derek can’t help but smile. “I was so focused on not acting like a total idiot in front of you that I acted like a total… ‘jerkface’ instead.”
Stiles clears his throat noisily. “Yeah, you… you really did.”
Derek smiles a little wider and watches as Stiles becomes increasingly fidgety, his hands twitching and his eyes flashing back and forth between Derek and the room behind him. Derek feels warm, takes a step closer.
“Don’t think you’re being forgiven so easily!” Stiles squeaks out. “What you did was super assholey. There was major crying into my pillow action happening.”
Derek’s smile starts to falter.
“So you’re going to have to buy me dinner for the next month before I even think about maybe forgiving you.” Stiles continues, face now completely red, eyes unable to meet Derek’s, hands gripping the door frame behind him as though he needs its support to stand.
Derek can’t help but grin. It’s gratifying, really, that he’s not the only one to turn into a complete idiot around the person he likes. “Are you asking me out?”
Stiles freezes, still clinging to the doorway. “I--well--”
“Because if you are,” Derek says, letting his grin settle into a smirk, “You’re doing it wrong.”
--
Derek doesn’t need to tell his family about Stiles--Isaac has already sent the information down the long chain leading to Cora, and once Cora knows, the whole family knows. In detail. And when Derek is summoned to his family home, a pale and anxious Stiles in tow, he arrives to find Jackson and Isaac already seated at the dinner table, matching smirks on their faces.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~AND THEN THERE WAS KNOTTING AND XENO PORN. YOUR WELCOME~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Characters/Pairing: Sterek, Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Jackson Whittemore, Isaac Lahey
Prompt: Derek and Stiles are teachers somewhere. Derek is obviously the music teacher, and Stiles is also obviously the gym teacher. Derek likes to tell Stiles he's doing it wrong.
--
It all starts with a ransacked music room. It's not trashed, exactly, so much as it is simply... different. The educational posters have been plastered over with other, trendier educational posters, the furniture has been rearranged, and his lesson plans have gone missing and been replaced with ones that, while very detailed and very inspired, are definitely not the same ones he spent ages slaving over for the past few weeks.
Really, the biggest problem is that everything in his classroom is very much not his, right down to the writing on the whiteboard, where it proclaims in a messy but legible script, "No, YOU’RE doing it wrong, JERKFACE."
Derek Hale closes his eyes and slowly, carefully counts to ten. When he opens them gingerly, the message is still there.
No matter what the other teachers like to say, Derek doesn't actually keep a super-secret diary full of lists of all the people he's going to ax-murder in the dead of the night. Still, just for a moment, Derek wishes that he did, just so he could have the pleasure of putting the name Stiles Stilinski at the top of the list.
--
Okay, it had actually all started on Derek’s first day, a week before the beginning of term, when Derek had wandered into the gymnasium in a sort of self-guided tour.
He was staring around, reminiscing on all the things he'd tried so hard to forget, when he heard footsteps approaching behind him.
"Hey," called a voice, out of breath. "You must be the new music teacher. Hale, right?"
"Derek," he allowed, and turned, only to feel a punch in his stomach as his internal organs tried to rearrange themselves. Or something.
"Nice to meet you, Derek," the man before him said, brown eyes crinkling with laughter. "I'm Stiles Stilinski, in charge of P. E." He was still panting a little, his whole body rocking with the movement, mouth open and smiling, cheeks flushed, hair damp.
Derek knew he was staring, but he couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes away. Stiles seemed to be waiting for a response, so Derek eventually managed to nod at him awkwardly, shoving his suddenly sweaty hands into his pockets.
Fortunately, this was apparently all Stiles required to launch into an endless introductory speech, complete with wild arm-flailing and the occasional full-body shimmy, which definitely didn't make Derek's pulse speed up, because that would be ridiculous.
Stiles had finally stopped speaking again, and was looking to Derek for input.
Derek floundered for something intelligent to say. Most of his brain was stuck around variations of marry me, which was probably not conducive to any kind of personal future happiness. How do you casually indicate to someone that you're interested in romantic involvement without ruining your life through an inevitable and embarrassing rejection? How do you speak to someone attractive while seeming calm (and also attractive)? How do you ask out your colleague while not being entirely certain of the relevant laws on workplace relationships?
"Your set-up in here is breaking about three public safety regulations." Holy shit, what was he saying. "Do you actually have a Physical Education degree, or is this a case of an underfunded department being taken over by the art teacher?" Shut up, shut up, shut up--"Because, regardless, you're doing it wrong."
Oh my god.
Derek remained frozen in horror as the silence stretched out. He could barely breathe as he took in Stiles' wide brown eyes, his still-open mouth no longer smiling, his whole body stiff in hurt and shock. Even in some alternate universe where Derek magically had the social skills to hold a basic conversation without causing an apocalypse, he wouldn't know how to fix this.
And then it was too late, anyway, because Stiles' smile was back, all teeth.
--
Isaac still finds the whole situation hilarious, even after Derek shows him the rearranged classroom.
"Looks to me like he did you a favor. Maybe now your kids won't be yawning through the entire class."
"It wasn't that bad," Derek protests, offended despite himself. "I guess it was a little... stiff, but I'm still trying to find my footing here."
"Yeah, and Stilinski found that footing for you. You should send him a thank-you card."
"You're not helping, Isaac."
"You mean I'm not helping you justify your creepy self-entitlement issues? Shame on me."
"He broke into my classroom! This is private property."
"It's the school's property, Derek."
"Well, it has my private property in it. He stole my lesson plans!"
"Maybe he'll give them back if you apologize to him."
Derek clenches his jaw in frustration. If he knew how to apologize for what he'd said, he'd have done it already, Isaac.
"Oops, sorry, I said the a-word. Should I put a penny in the swear jar?"
"Put in a damn dollar," snaps Derek--just as his students begin to file into the classroom.
I hate my life, Derek thinks as he shoves Isaac out of the room while his students alternate between gaping in horror and smirking, smug with the new blackmail material. I really, really hate my life.
--
“I should have just asked him to marry me,” Derek says glumly into his Minute Maid orange juice. “It couldn’t have turned out worse than this.”
Isaac chokes on his cafeteria-bought lunch. “Why was marriage even on the table?”
“Because I’m broken. I need a personality smith to come forge me a new set of social skills.”
"No shit, Hale," says Jackson, rolling his eyes. Jackson is always throwing profanities around, and yet it's Derek who ends up getting a public dressing down for saying "damn" in front of his students. What is his life. "You're looking at this from completely the wrong angle." When he fails to get an enthused reaction from his hint of impending advice, he sighs, stares at the cafeteria ceiling as though asking the bare support beams for guidance--they have none on offer, Derek's already been there--and continues with, "So, what Stilinski did, it was a prank, Hale. And when people prank you, what do you do?"
"...Promptly notify the relevant authorities?" Derek tries. Isaac facepalms.
Jackson's default smug-asshole expression is briefly taken over by his derisive-asshole expression. "What? No! Jesus. You one-up their prank, retard."
Derek frowns. "Isn't that against the rules?" Isaac and Jackson exchange a look. "I'm new here; I have a reputation as a positive educational influence to build, I--stop laughing, you assholes."
Derek hears a gasp behind him and, after taking a fortifying breath, turns to see one of his students staring at him judgingly.
(Isaac and Jackson don't stop laughing.)
--
Derek grew up in Beacon Hills, it's true, but all his old friendships here fell through during the years he lived in New York. By the time he finally settled on moving back, he didn't know anyone he could call on for help getting a foot in the door of the local school system. That's where Isaac came in.
Isaac Lahey is, apparently, the "bro" of the boyfriend of his little sister's best friend, which is definitely not a legitimate connection in any way, Cora, but somehow Isaac helped Derek get the job, helped Derek prepare for the job, helped Derek meet people at the job, and is now helping Derek out of the mess that is Derek meeting people (at the job). Isaac, despite his quick temper and cutting remarks, is quickly growing to be one of Derek's closest friends, and through him, Derek has occasionally been able to succeed in socializing with people without instantly winning the top position of their hit list. Against all odds, Jackson is one of these people.
Case in point:
Derek was sitting alone in the staffroom on his first day, eating his packed lunch in relative peace while trying desperately not to think of his disastrous self-introduction with the stupidly attractive P. E. teacher, when Isaac entered the room, dragging another staff member along behind him.
"Derek," said Isaac, grinning. "I'd like you to meet Scott McCall. He--"
"Oh my god, Isaac, I'm capable of speaking, you know." The man shook himself loose and collapsed gracelessly onto the bench across from Derek, shooting him an uncertain smile. "Yeah, so I'm Scott. I'm the fifth grade teacher."
"As if, McCall." Another man settled on Derek's right, sitting across from Isaac. He turned slightly towards Derek, the angle carefully calculated to emphasize his chiseled jaw, and shot Derek a grin that looked as though it'd been painstakingly practiced in a mirror. "I'm Jackson Whittemore," the man said, extending a hand to shake, "Yes, of the Whittemores. I'm the fifth grade teacher; McCall is just a babysitter."
Based on the way Scott was gritting his teeth, it was an old battle. "Just because I embrace the idea of learning through fun, Jackson..."
Derek could see Jackson gearing up for a long winded argument, and it took about point zero zero one seconds to decide he really didn't want to sit through this. "I'm sure there are merits to both approaches."
Scott and Jackson both glared at him, and he spent the next forty-five minutes listening to exactly why he was wrong. He should have just stood up and left when he had the chance.
--
Derek stares around the gymnasium, wondering if he's missed anything. He'd spent hours meticulously rearranging the entire set-up of all the sports rooms, reordering and relabelling all the equipment, and, naturally, replacing Stiles' lesson plans with his own carefully drawn up versions. At the very least, he decides as he closes the doors gently behind him, the rooms are now fully up-to-date with all public safety mandates.
Derek's nervous. Of course he's nervous. He's supposed to be nervous. But somehow, it's not the worry of getting caught interfering with another teacher's materials that's bothering him; instead, he can't stop himself from wondering what Stiles' reaction will be when he sees what Derek has done, whether or not he'll like the new set-up, and what he'll think of the lesson plans Derek left behind.
Derek isn't a P.E. teacher, it's true, but he's spent enough time helping first his aunt and now his cousin Malia run the local gym that he sort of... well, he knows the field of physical fitness frontways and sideways and all the ways, really. He knows his plans are good, is confident about them in a way he never was about his music plans, but... what if Stiles doesn't like them? What if this makes Stiles even angrier? Of course he'll be angry, Derek was just fucking with his shit. Damnit, what is he doing? Derek may be new, but even he knows better than to take advice from Jackson, for fuck's sake.
Derek wheels around, half running back to the gym. Maybe he can put everything back in time. At least he can return Stiles' lesson plans. Maybe Stiles somehow won't notice the rest, maybe--
When Derek opens the door to the little office adjacent to the gym, Stiles doesn't notice. He's staring down at the sheet of paper gripped in his hands, wide-eyed with shock. But then, slowly, he starts to smile, a blush crawling onto his cheeks.
Derek sneaks out again, closing the door as quietly as he can.
--
Derek makes a beeline for where Jackson and Scott are bickering while Isaac stands beside them, blithely ignoring them both in favor of his phone. Derek nods in greeting to Scott and Isaac, then interrupts Jackson’s rant in order to inform him that, “I hate you.”
Scott blinks at him, momentarily stunned. Jackson just rolls his eyes. “No you don’t, fucktard.” He eyes his watch in an obvious movement that’s clearly designed to show off how expensive it is. “What’s up? I can pretend to care for about ten more minutes.”
Derek doesn’t let Jackson’s indifference get to him--he has sisters. “I cannot believe I listened to you when you told me to prank him back. He’s going to hate me forever now, no matter what I--”
“Hang on,” Isaac cuts in, suddenly paying attention, “I thought you said he smiled when he saw what you’d done? Doesn’t sound like he hates you to me.”
“No, seriously, hang on,” says Jackson. “Isn’t that totally the point?” When everyone stares at him, he frowns back. “Wait, you want Stilinski to like you?”
“...Yes?” Derek manages.
Isaac sniggers. “Dude, were you not there when Derek was regretting not proposing marriage when he had the chance?”
“I wasn’t listening to you dumbasses. Ew. Why the fuck?”
Derek groans and collapses against the wall, closing his eyes. “I don’t know, maybe because he’s perfect?”
Jackson gives a disgusted-sounding sort, while Scott and Isaac remain conspicuously silent.
“I mean,” Derek tries again, “He’s funny and friendly and smart, he’s gorgeous, he has the nicest smile…”
“No, no,” says Isaac, “‘Gorgeous’ has an ‘e’ after the second ‘g.’”
Derek’s eyes snap open. Isaac is leaning over Scott’s shoulder as Scott presumably types everything Derek’s saying verbatim into his phone. “What--”
“Oh, didn’t I mention it before, Derek?” asks Isaac, smiling brightly. “Scott and Stiles have been best friends since they were both in kindergarten.”
“Not that long, then,” mutters Jackson.
“Regardless,” Isaac rolls his eyes at Jackson, “telling one of them is the same as telling the other. I swear, they share a brain.”
Derek can’t speak. He’s frozen, mouth dry, staring at the phone like it’s an instrument of murder.
Which, considering…
The phone vibrates with an incoming test. Scott reads it, grinning, then says, “Hey guys, we’re gonna be late if we don’t get moving. Talk to you later?”
Derek’s mouth moves soundlessly. What did he say? What does he think of it? What does he think of me? How does he feel about eloping, hypothetically?
Isaac drags him out of the room, laughing.
--
Derek is cleaning up the music room at the end of the day, absently whistling to himself, when he suddenly realizes he’s not alone. Stiles Stilinski is leaning in the doorway, watching him.
“Hey,” Stiles says, smirking when he sees that Derek has noticed him, “Your whistling is ridiculously out of tune, you know that?”
Derek winces, straightening up to prepare himself for the inevitable.
“Are you even a music teacher,” Stiles continues, “or is this a case an underfunded department being taken over by a total asshole?”
“The latter one,” Derek admits grudgingly. “My degrees are in Elementary Education and English Lit.”
Stiles looks perversely delighted. “You’re shitting me.” And how is Derek the only one who ever gets caught using profanities? “What, were you projecting your nerves all over me before?”
“I don’t know. I guess so. I was nervous. Even ignoring the whole music thing, I wasn’t really sure how to handle teaching older kids.” At Stiles’ questioning look, Derek explains, “I taught first grade back in New York.”
Stiles’ mouth drops open, and his eyes widen in laughter. Derek rolls his eyes at the expression, trying to ignore the twisting in his stomach it causes.
“Oh my god,” Stiles manages. “Are there pictures? Tell me there are pictures.”
“Yeah, I have a few.”
Stiles collapses into giggles. Derek huffs in feigned irritation and goes back to cleaning up, feeling his shoulders relax.
Eventually, Stiles manages to calm himself down enough to speak again. “So, uh, those lesson plans you made for me. They were… they were really good.”
Derek ducks his head and smiles. “Thanks. So were yours.”
“I mean, you seem to know a lot more about P. E. than music. Kind of ironic.”
“My extended family owns a gym,” Derek shrugs. “I spent a lot of time there as a kid. What about you?”
“Me?”
Derek smirks. “You seem to know a lot more about music than you do about P. E.”
Stiles scowls and crosses his arms over his chest. “I do have a degree in Physical Education, you douchenozzle. Well, a minor.”
“Uh huh.”
“My, uh, my main focus was in Criminal Justice.”
“What.”
Stiles flushes a little. “My dad is the Sheriff here, you know. I just wanted to…” Stiles trails off uncertainly.
“I get it.” Derek grabs his bag, heading for the door. He stops in front of Stiles, takes a deep breath, and looks up, meeting Stiles’ eyes. “I’m sorry for what I said before. It was inappropriate and unjustified. I didn’t mean it.”
Stiles’ face has gone blank. “Then why did you say it?”
“Other than me projecting?”
Stiles’ cold facade breaks when his lips twitch, but he remains silent.
“I… I just never learned how to talk to attractive people, I guess.” At that, Stiles turns bright pink, and Derek can’t help but smile. “I was so focused on not acting like a total idiot in front of you that I acted like a total… ‘jerkface’ instead.”
Stiles clears his throat noisily. “Yeah, you… you really did.”
Derek smiles a little wider and watches as Stiles becomes increasingly fidgety, his hands twitching and his eyes flashing back and forth between Derek and the room behind him. Derek feels warm, takes a step closer.
“Don’t think you’re being forgiven so easily!” Stiles squeaks out. “What you did was super assholey. There was major crying into my pillow action happening.”
Derek’s smile starts to falter.
“So you’re going to have to buy me dinner for the next month before I even think about maybe forgiving you.” Stiles continues, face now completely red, eyes unable to meet Derek’s, hands gripping the door frame behind him as though he needs its support to stand.
Derek can’t help but grin. It’s gratifying, really, that he’s not the only one to turn into a complete idiot around the person he likes. “Are you asking me out?”
Stiles freezes, still clinging to the doorway. “I--well--”
“Because if you are,” Derek says, letting his grin settle into a smirk, “You’re doing it wrong.”
--
Derek doesn’t need to tell his family about Stiles--Isaac has already sent the information down the long chain leading to Cora, and once Cora knows, the whole family knows. In detail. And when Derek is summoned to his family home, a pale and anxious Stiles in tow, he arrives to find Jackson and Isaac already seated at the dinner table, matching smirks on their faces.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~AND THEN THERE WAS KNOTTING AND XENO PORN. YOUR WELCOME~*~*~*~*~*~*~