Sterek Stories - A Collection - II

Need a hand?

Stiles walks out of the coffee shop, slurping his ice coffee, when he sees Derek across the street. "Hey, Der! Hey!" he calls out and crosses the street without further thinking. Several cars honk at him, but he reaches the other side of the road safely. Barely. 

"You should watch where you're going," Derek grouches instead of saying hello.

"Huh," Stiles acknowledges, "you'd think I know better, being the sheriff’s kid and all."

Derek’s eyebrows agree with him.

"So, have you been shopping?" Stiles is a bit unsure of what to say, now they're standing across from each other. He just saw his favourite werewolf - sorry, Scotty - and wanted to go over. Say hi. Be, well, be near him. Stiles' impulses often have him orbiting Derek’s space, to be honest.
Derek is carrying a hefty load of grocery bags, two in each hand. He can probably guess what they are for, with today being Friday and the day for their weekly pack dinner. They rotate between Scott’s house and Derek’s place, with the occasional grill action over at the sheriff’s home. He has the best grill, it was a pack birthday gift last year.

"No, this is my new workout routine," Derek deadpans. The wolf's got jokes nowadays, it still takes some getting used to.

"As if you need to put on any more muscle," Stiles answers with a roll of his eyes. "Mr. Perfect Biceps. I bet they’re heaven to sleep on. They already look more tempting than my pillow and you know how much I love my pillow."
He sucks the straw of his ice coffee back in his mouth in an attempt to cover up the lack of brain to mouth filter. Derek is looking at him strangely, the tips of his ears colouring red. It wouldn’t be the first time that Stiles said something flattering yet mildly inappropriate to Derek. He’s trying to be good, but every now and then his crush shines through. If you can still call it a crush if you've been carrying a torch for the guy ever since you were barely sixteen and trespassing on the guy’s dead family's property. The werewolf has been good about it, though. If he notices Stiles has more than friendly feelings for him - and how can he not? Stiles is certain he smells particularly ripe on occasion - he is kind enough to ignore them for the sake of friendship.

"I'm uh," Derek gestures with one arm full of grocery bags down the street. "You wanna… You need a ride?"

"Oh! To your place?" Stiles pops the straw out of his mouth. "Yeah, why not? I was gonna come over in an hour or so anyway." He often helps Derek cook for pack dinners, it became somewhat of a routine by now. He falls into stride with Derek, side by side on the narrow sidewalk. "Are we making Tandoori chicken again?" They made the Indian curry dish a few weeks ago and it was a big success. There've been requests for a repeat.

Derek nods. "Isaac asked me to."

"Can't say no to that pup " Stiles agrees warmly. He tosses his now empty coffee cup in a nearby trash can and nudges Derek’s hand with his. "Can I…?"

"Can I carry some of that," he wants to ask, but Derek’s startled blush makes the words stall in his throat. 

The werewolf looks extremely vulnerable for a short moment, hopeful even maybe. Then he blinks and nods curtly. His hand with the shopping bags moves and…

… transfers the bags to his other hand. His now free hand closes gingerly around Stiles'.

Oh. Oh. 

It's mostly reflex that makes Stiles curl his fingers around Derek’s. But once they touch giddiness travels through him. He almost giggles, but manages to bite his lip to hold it back. Derek surely doesn’t miss the happy uptick in his heartbeat.
He grabs the werewolf's hand a bit firmer and makes their arms swing a little bit.
"Okay," he declares happily.

Derek gives him a sidelong glance, his ears still red and a small, indulgent smile on his lips. "Okay."