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The first time Derek sees him, they’re waiting on the platform for the subway. He’s got messy brown hair, moles dotting his pale skin, and he’s absenting nodding his head along to whatever is playing on his headphones. He glances over at Derek, a small smile on his full lips, before looking away. Derek, struck by his amber eyes, moves closer so he can get in the same train car as him. Unfortunately, the train is beyond crowded and even though he manages to squeeze into the same car (accidentally hitting a woman in the leg with his briefcase), he can’t even manage to get a glimpse of the man.
For the next week, he gets to the platform ten minutes early and waits until he’s ten minutes late but the mysterious amber-eyed man never shows.
*
He’s not sure why he’s so taken with the stranger. All he has is the minute he spent staring at him, and yet he can’t stop thinking about him. He imagines up different things about him as he stares off into space in his office, like his name and what he does and even what he was listening to that day in the station. He thinks his name is probably something a bit different; unique like he so clearly is. Definitely not Steve or William, at least. His skinny pants, Converse, fitted plaid button-up, and glasses (oh, had Derek noticed those black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose) made him look like a student – not to mention the backpack he’d been sporting. Probably a grad student, Derek thinks. And he’d probably been listening to some cool, indie band Derek has never heard of because all he listens to is the music Laura puts on his iPod (usually something embarrassing, like Britney Spears).
*
After a month, he’s pretty much of the mind that he will never see the man again. So it shocks the ever-living hell out of him when the object of his somewhat creepy affection plops down next to him on the subway when he’s on his way home from working late. Embarrassingly, his breath catches in his throat because, yeah, he hasn’t been exaggerating the attractiveness of this man in his head at all. He’s every bit as handsome as he remembers, with the messy hair and upturned nose.
The man smiles at him, much bigger than the small smile he’d been granted the first time, and Derek smiles nervously back before averting his eyes (it’s actually difficult to look into those big eyes up close).
A few minutes into the ride, he casually (or at least he likes to think it is) brushes his hand against the man’s and tries to play it off like an accident even though he’s pretty sure he’s having a stroke.
“Sorry,” he mutters, hoping it sounds believable, because he is not sorry at all.
“No problem,” the man replies, eyes twinkling and smile firmly in place, and fuck if his voice isn’t as hot as the rest of him.
Derek stays on the train until a stop after the man gets off, even though it’s three stops past his own.
*
It’s only a week later that he sees him again – and really, when did Derek become so damn lucky?
It’s inching toward one a.m. on a Friday and he’s just leaving the office (sometimes Derek hates his life) and with it being so late, he decides to grab a taxi. He walks a little ways, because he knows a lot of taxis will be waiting by the cluster of bars down the street. He’s just about to reach for the door on an idling taxi when another hand gets it first.
“Sorry, bro,” the person says, pulling his hand back when he sees Derek there. “You can have it.”
Derek only spares a brief glance for the speaker – a tanned guy with curly brown hair – before noticing that his subway mystery man is there… and by the looks of it, very drunk. He’s propped up between the tanned guy and a short girl with red hair and a scowl.
“Could you be any heavier, Stiles?” she snaps at the man – Stiles. “Scott, we need to get him home.”
“Hey!” the cabbie shouts at them from an open window. “Are any of you getting in or what?”
“Take it,” Derek insists, opening the door for them.
The tanned guy crawls into the back, pulling on the arm of his drunk friend.
“Hey,” Stiles says, pointing at Derek and tilting his head to the side. “You’re that guy,” he says, before his friend finally succeeds in yanking him into the cab.
The redhead raises an appraising brow at Derek, clearly wondering how Stiles knows him (which, he really doesn’t but Derek can dream). Her eyes narrow briefly before she slides into the cab with her friends and the door slams shut behind her.
Derek watches as the cab – and Stiles – pull away, wishing it had been a better opportunity to ask him for his number.
*
He preens for a solid week. Stiles recognized him, even when he was drunk. Derek’s definitely not the only one taking notice of strangers on the subway. So yeah, there is definite reason for feeling a bit smug. Not to mention he now knows his name – Stiles! He was certainly right about him not having a normal name – not that he’s under any impression that Stiles is his actual name, because that’s highly unlikely. But still, definitely not Steve or William.
Stiles.
His thoughts progress to a borderline creepy level upon learning the man’s name. And maybe he allows himself to indulge in a few dirty fantasies when he’s alone in his apartment before bed, but that’s just because Stiles is the most beautiful person he’s ever seen and did Derek mention that Stiles recognized him? Because he did.
*
He has no idea how to go about running into Stiles again. Their encounters have been sporadic and spontaneous at best. And unfortunately, he doesn’t get a lot of time to plot because it’s getting close to Christmas and he promised his family he would come home to California to spend the holidays with them. Not that he doesn’t want to anyway, but it’s a promise nonetheless.
He’s taking a redeye from JFK, so he stays at work as late as he can to get enough work done that his boss doesn’t hate him for being gone for a work. In his rush to get things done, he ends up late to the airport and only just manages to get through security and to his gate before they close the doors. All the other passengers are on board and he tries not to flush as he makes his way toward his seat in the business class section.
Of course, once he finds his seat, he almost passes out, because Stiles is in the seat right next to his, absently flipping through one of those crappy catalogues they give you.
With shaking hands, Derek shoves his bag in the overhead compartment and sits down in his aisle seat.
“No way,” he hears from next to him and he turns his head to see Stiles gaping at him.
“Hi,” he says nervously.
“Man, this is like the fourth time I’ve seen you since October! What are the chances, huh?”
Derek is about to respond, really, he just needs to remember how voices work when Stiles continues on.
“Well, you probably don’t remember me. But I’ve seen you on the subway a couple of times? And there was a taxi thing a couple weeks ago?”
He basically chokes on his own laughter, because frankly it’s hilarious that Stiles thinks Derek doesn’t remember him.
“I remember you,” he says, which is the fucking understatement of the century but it’s much better than blurting out ‘yeah I actually fantasize about you constantly’ or ‘do you want to adopt adorable babies with me?’.
“Oh, good, I thought this was going to get embarrassing for a second. Actually, I tend to embarrass myself a lot so that’ll probably happen anyway.”
“I’m sure you’re not that embarrassing,” Derek assures him, actively trying to keep his heart rate (and dick) in control.
Stiles shrugs and switches topics. “Man, these seats are awesome. I was supposed to be in economy but they upgraded my ticket for some reason. Never sat up here before. Clearly, I’ve been missing out and Lydia has been right all these years.”
“Lydia?” Derek prompts, trying to sound casual as opposed to desperate.
“One of my friends. Actually, you probably saw her when we stole that taxi from you. She’s the evil looking one with strawberry blonde hair.”
“Well, I assumed ‘Lydia’ was not the man you were with,” Derek jokes.
He hopes Lydia’s not his girlfriend. Of course, Stiles wouldn’t have said she’s ‘one of his friends’ if she was more than that, right? He mulls it over as the flight attendants go through the safety procedures.
“What’s your name, by the way? I’m Stiles.”
“Oh, ah, I know,” Derek admits. “Your friend said it that night. My name’s Derek.”
“And you remembered,” Stiles says, sounding pleased if a bit disbelieving.
“I have a good memory?” Derek supplies, hoping it doesn’t sound as uncertain out loud as it does in his head.
“You know, it is kind of strange that we keep running into each other,” Stiles comments and Derek might be imagining it, but his voice sounds distinctly flirtatious.
“Maybe it’s fate,” Derek replies with his very best smirk, because he can flirt if he wants to. No matter what Laura says. He is totally capable of being flirty. Also he sure as fuck hopes it actually is fate.
Stiles grins at him. “Well, a boy can dream.”
They keep talking – some of it’s flirty (sometimes even bordering on indecent) but a lot of it is just nice conversation. Derek doesn’t have very many people in his life he can just talk to and even though he feels a bit creepy for even thinking it, he feels like he really connects to Stiles. Or like he could connect to Stiles at some point. Emotionally, he means. Although he would not be opposed to physical connection. Like at all.
But yeah, some of their conversation definitely hints at the physical connection end of things. Stiles is evidently some sort of master at innuendo and that is really unfair to Derek’s sanity and also to his dick, which is as interested in Stiles as his mind is. Which is to say a lot. Like, Derek should have known that planes could be used as metaphors for male genitalia. Because then he would have pointedly not brought it up so he wouldn’t have to suffer through Stiles casually commenting about thrusters and turbo whatever and other things that Derek’s not even sure are real but the too-innocent smile on Stiles’ face has him fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat.
Point is, when Stiles gets up and inches past Derek with his crotch basically in Derek’s face, winking at him before heading to the first class bathrooms at the front of the plane, Derek is pretty sure it’s an invitation. Like at least 80% sure. His heart starts hammering in his chest at the prospect. Nervously, he glances around at the other people in the cabin and sees that most everyone is asleep (it is a red eye, after all). The flight attendants aren’t even in view.
After taking a deep breath, he rises from his seat and makes his way to the bathroom, knocking quietly on the door. It opens barely a second later and Stiles reaches out to yank him in, smashing their mouths together and shutting the door all at once.
“I’ve been wanting to get my hands on you all night,” Stiles pants as he pulls away to yank off his own shirt before deftly unbuttoning Derek’s.
“I’ve wanted you since I saw you in the subway months ago,” Derek gasps out as Stiles sucks a hickey into his neck.
“God, Derek—“ Stiles cries out brokenly as Derek attaches his mouth to one of Stiles’ nipples. Stiles moans and jerks against him, rubbing their erections together.
“Pants off,” Derek grunts, tugging viciously at the button of Stiles’ jeans and after a couple moments of struggle, finally yanking them and his boxer briefs down to his knees. He gets his own pants down with much less fumbling and when Stiles makes a needy noise at the sight, his cock gets impossibly harder.
“Fuck,” Stiles groans and wastes no time in grasping them both in one hand, slicking their combined precum down their shafts and jerking them off.
Derek attaches their lips together again – the kiss is open-mouthed and downright filthy. When Derek bites down on Stiles’ lower lip, the rhythm of his hand falters for a moment before picking up speed.
“I’m so close – oh shit,” Stiles whines, high and needy.
A few more pumps and Stiles is gone, arching his back and gritting his teeth so he doesn’t scream. Derek comes at the sight of him, grunting through the last strokes of Stiles’ hand and spilling onto his stomach. For several long moments they stay silent except their breathless panting. Stiles releases their softening cocks from his grip and rests his head on Derek’s shoulder while he catches his breath.
“Thank fuck they upgraded me to business,” Stiles says, voice still breathy, and Derek laughs.
“We should probably clean up,” Derek manages, trying to get himself out of his orgasm stupor. Now that he’s come, he’s slightly more concerned about being discovered by a flight attendant or fellow passenger. He wets a paper towel and wipes his cum off of Stiles’ stomach.
Once they’re as put together as they can be, they sneak out of the bathroom one at a time and head back to their seats. Luckily, most of the passengers are still asleep and no one seems to have discovered what just went on in the bathroom.
Stiles falls asleep on his shoulder and Derek takes the opportunity to slip an arm around him. Eventually, he drifts off and before he knows it, the captain is telling them to prepare for landing over the intercom. Stiles yawns and stretches, smiling sleepily at Derek, who’s breath hitches a bit in his throat. Still groggy from sleep, they don’t talk much as the plane lands and they make their way to baggage claim. It only takes a couple minutes for their respective bags to come around.
Derek is a bit nervous – he doesn’t know what’s going to happen now. He wants more than anything to see Stiles again. When he glances over at the man in question, he’s frowning at his phone.
“What’s wrong?” Derek asks.
“My dad got called into work and can’t pick me up,” Stiles explains.
“Where are you headed? I’m renting a car, I could—“
“No, I can’t make you drive all the way out to Beacon Hills for me,” Stiles protests.
“What?” Derek sputters out. “Did you say Beacon Hills?”
Stiles nods. “That’s where I’m from.”
“I’m from Beacon Hills,” Derek says, feeling stunned.
“You’re kidding,” Stiles claims. “Wait – are you Derek Hale?”
Derek nods, head spinning. Possibly his heart is going to jump out of his ribcage at any moment, because he and Stiles are from the same town.
“I know your sister. Laura, not the younger one. My dad’s her boss; well, he’s the Sheriff, anyway. This is so weird.”
“It’s a small world,” Derek manages to say without passing out. “Anyway, it, uh, obviously wouldn’t be a problem to give you a ride. I mean, it wouldn’t have been a problem even if you weren’t going to Beacon Hills, but… yeah,” he trails off awkwardly.
Stiles grins at him. “That would be really great actually.”
Derek grins right back. The holidays are looking better and better every minute.