Sterek One Shots (boyxboy)

On The House

On The House by allhalethekings
😋☕️😋☕️😋☕️😋☕️😋☕️😋☕️

Stiles checks his watch, biting his lip, nervously. His leg is jiggling up and down under the table and he fidgets with the paper sleeve on the coffee cup, looking up every so often to see if his date's arrived yet. Forty-five minutes now. Still nobody. It sucks but he almost expected this to happen. It's not like he's been ready to date someone anyways after the hilarity of his relationships with Heather and then Malia but Lydia and Danny had both insisted. He figured they were right since it'd been almost a year after his previous relationship but still.

His date, David, was supposed to be someone from Lydia and Danny's work and they'd both raved about how awesome this guy was and how gorgeous he was and how he and Stiles would get along so well. Well, Danny had raved - Lydia just pursed her lips and nodded coolly. He feels humiliated, the sweetness of the caramel macchiato not helping his pathetic condition either. Stiles wants to just give up, cut his losses, and go home but his body doesn't seem to want to obey him.

It might have something to do with the fact that he's got the perfect line of sight to the smoking hot barista working the shift. Wait - what? No, definitely not. Stiles stays because he's a hopeless romantic and always ends up being the last one to leave.

It has nothing to do with the fact that the barista, who had perhaps made his drink in the most aggressive manner possible and handed it to him by practically slamming it on the counter top, was truly hotter than the surface of the sun. Nothing, okay?

Stiles sneaks another glance at the hot barista only to catch him looking straight at Stiles. His eyes widen and feeling caught, he looks away so fast he's surprised he doesn't get whiplash. Stiles takes another sip of his now room-temperature caramel macchiato, almost gagging at the overbearing sweetness of the drink. His fingers take turn between fidgeting with the paper sleeve and thumbing through his phone to see if David had texted him at all about possibly running late. Lydia had assured he had Stiles's number so if he still hasn't texted, it must mean he's not showing up right?

Stiles sighs, leaning back in his chair dishearteningly. Maybe he shouldleave. He's just about to get his stuff ready to go when someone slams an identical cup of coffee in front of him. Surprised, Stiles flails in his seat, almost tipping over, before noticing who the hand belongs to.

"Uh-"

"On the house," the hot barista grits. Up close, Stiles notices his eyes more than he had before - mostly green, kind of brown, with flecks of blue and was that bits of orangy-red? What the fuck? Did this guy seriously have every colour of the rainbow in his damn eyes?

"Uh-" Stiles repeats dumbly, shifting his eyes between the barista and the paper cup and back at the barista again. The barista merely rolls his eyes, pursing his lips, and begins to walk away before Stiles flies forward and catches him by his wrist. The barista turns, glowers at Stiles, slowly looks back at where Stiles's is still holding on to his wrist, and then back at Stiles. Stiles reddens and immediately lets go. "Sorry! But I just meant - I didn't order another coffee?" He trails off weakly.

"Yes, that's why I said on. the. house," the barista mutters darkly.

"Why?"

He sighs, nostrils flaring at the annoyance that is Stiles presumably, "Because you got stood up. Because you look pathetic. Because my sister made me," he practically growls, pointing to a dark-haired girl standing behind the counter blatantly staring at the exchange. "Pick one. They all apply."

"You're such an asshole," Stiles gapes.

"Excuse me?" Back to the growly brows.

"You just said I look pathetic," Stiles argues. "That, you asshole, is not good hospitality."

Perhaps Stiles shouldn't mouth off to a guy who looks like he can easily bench press two of Stiles but speaking before thinking has never been Stiles's strong suit. Just ask his dad. But he must have struck a chord because the barista just gets a pained look on his face, his earlier angry-face melting away.

"I'm sorry," the barista grouses. "Enjoy you coffee on the house."

He walks away this time, as fast as he can, before Stiles can say anything in return. He briefly contemplates just leaving all together but well - the view's pretty nice so he might as well stick around, right? He gets up, quickly walking over to the cashier where the girl is smirking at him, and drops a few coins in their tip jar before returning to his seat. He pulls up his emails on his phone and begins to wade through them.

It's only fifteen minutes later that he's interrupted yet again, this time by the sound of a plate being placed on his table. He looks up again to see the hot barista setting a piece of the coffee cake Stiles had been eyeing earlier.

"On the house." The eyebrows are more growly than ever. He sneaks a glance at the cashier girl again, only to see her giggling into her hand before she flips around to deal with changing the coffee urns.

"Um-"

"Is that the only word you're capable of saying?"

"Is asshole the only personality you're capable of being?" Stiles retorts immediately. The barista's lips curl into a ghost of a smile but it's gone as soon as it appears. It's then that Stiles notices that he's no longer wearing the hilariously baby pink apron and he's added a dark grey cardigan to his black t-shirt. "On your way out?"

The barista looks at Stiles, as if trying to figure out why Stiles is suddenly interested, but opts instead to give a stilted nod. "Shift's over."

"Oh," Stiles says softly. They fall into an awkward silence for what seems like hours before the barista coughs again, flicking his eyes to the door, as if he's trying to figure out how to leave and you know what? Stiles isn't ready for that yet. The guy's hot as all hell and he's brought him free coffee and coffee cake and well, you miss all the shots you don't take, right? "Want to join me for a bit?" He turns his most hopeful look at the barista who widens his eyes at Stiles, as though he can't believe Stiles actually deigned to ask a guy like him out. He braces himself for the inevitable no or perhaps the more popular are you fucking high but all he gets is a jerky nod. Now, it's Stiles's turn to gape as he drops into the seat across from him. They fall quiet again.

"Wait, what's your name?" Stiles asks. He hadn't seen a name tag earlier on the apron, unlike with the hot barista's equally hot sister ("Cora"). "There's only so long I can call you hot barista in my head before it starts to sound creepy."

"Derek - and what?" The hot-Derek-flushes and yeah, that's it - Stiles is smitten. Stick a fork in Stiles because he's done. It was one thing to think that aggression was a kink for him but this guy fucking smiles and Stiles can practically feel it in his dick. And his heart. He can feel it in his dick and his heart and that's how he knows he's gone. An hour? Stiles supposes, mulling it over. Practically a record in and of itself.

"Um, nothing. I'm Stiles," he smiles.

"What's a Stiles?" Derek huffs but Stiles merely rolls his eyes, grinning. He gets one in return, only now noticing the cute little bunny teeth peeking out, and fuck yeah, Stiles thinks, this is going to be something beautiful.

He's right.