“Say HI If You’re BI” by t0r

The HEDA Project is happy to announce its second adult guest author, t0r! Below is posted a work of fanfiction for the show Teen Wolf (MTV). Enjoy!

Genre: Fanfiction, Slice-of-Life, Paranormal

Identity: Bisexual (M)

Word Count: 1,763

Warnings: Cursing

It’s already past 2:30 in the afternoon when Stiles finally drags himself out of bed to the bathroom. The party at Jungle for Coming Out Day had been awesome, as usual. Danny even bought him a shot when he walked in. And then Stiles followed it up with about 8 more shots of his own before calling it a night. To say he’s hungover would be a grave understatement.

“Time for some OJ and microwave pancakes,” he mumbles. “And sausage. And COFFEE. So. Much. Coffee.”

He stumbles down the hall of the apartment he shares with Scott and Erica, running into the walls a bit. His eyes aren’t quite open, but he hears them talking quietly in the living room. He throws a hand out in a gesture that could loosely be interpreted as a wave, humming a “morning” in their general direction as he heads into the kitchen.

“I made coffee,” Scott says just loudly enough for him to hear but not enough to aggravate his headache.

“We swears to serve the master of the Precious!” He’s pretty sure their plans for the day were just to sit around and play video games, but that’s going to have to wait for this headache to pass. He hopes Erica shows them some mercy, for once. He hasn’t won against her at all since she moved in.

Stiles downs his first cup while leaning over the sink then quickly pours a refill and heads into the living room, which is way more occupied than he expected.

“Uh … hello … everyone I know?” Stiles says, sweeping across the group with his coffee mug.

Derek’s nostrils flare and the book he’s holding falls to the floor, but Stiles isn’t awake enough to notice.

“Erica, did you decide to throw a party or afternoon tea or something?” He looks around and no one is eating or drinking. The TV is off. “Seriously, what’s going oooooon?” he breaks off in a yawn. He stretches and scratches at the narrow strip of skin bared where his shirt rides up.

“Uh … hi … Stiles,” Derek says, voice rough. “Pack meeting.”

“Aren’t these werewolfy meetings supposed to be at your place, dude? Under the light of the moon or something?” he jokes with a wink. He drains his coffee and sets the mug on the table, trying to blink himself awake.

“It’s almost 3, Stiles,” Lydia sighs. “You have bags under your eyes and glitter in your hair,” she tsks.

He runs both hands up through his hair a couple times, frowning when nothing shakes loose. “I’m starving. Did someone order pizza or something yet? Feed me, Seymour!”

“Called it in when I heard you wake up, man,” Scott laughs, because he’s the best.

“Duuuuude,” Stiles says, leaning over to hug him around the neck. “What did I miss, bro?”

“We were mostly waiting for you. I was just about to tell everyone Deaton found a way out of the arranged marriage, so you don’t have to fake marry anyone.”

“Thank God,” Isaac says. “Who knows who we would’ve gotten stuck with.”

“What? It was a solid idea! We would have been so good together, I’m sure,” Stiles says.

“Ridiculous,” Derek growls.

“Ha! My ideas are fantastic!”

“Says the guy who still has glitter behind his ear,” Allison points out. Erica drops her head on Boyd’s shoulder and shakes with laughter.

“Back to the point,” Scott says. “The Ng pack accepted Deaton’s offer to have their potential emissary join our weekly training sessions as a way to build ties between our packs instead of making anyone get married. I found out her name is Yan, she’s 19, and majors in Latin. And kinda cute, so maybe you’ll want to marry her anyway.”

“They offer a full Latin major here? How did I not know this? I should double major. Or minor? Why didn’t Deaton tell me?! Maybe he thinks I can’t do it. But then why bother training me at all?”

“Hey, Stiles. Focus,” Derek grumbles. Stiles glances at him and stops talking with a huff. Scott looks around the room for people to give their reports.

“I finished negotiating boundaries with the pixies,” Boyd says.

“Nothing came up on patrol last night,” Erica reports. Isaac nods.

“Nothing from the hunters,” Allison adds.

Derek says nothing.

“So … it’s all good?” Stiles asks.

“Yeah, it’s all good,” Scott grins.

“Excellent, because I’m behind on my calc homework,” Lydia says. Stiles snorts. “Fine, I’m less than a week ahead on my calc homework.”

“That’s my girl,” Stiles says. Derek clears his throat. Stiles tilts his head at him, but Derek doesn’t say anything.

“Anyway,” Scott says to Stiles, “pizza should be here in 15 if you want to go get cleaned up.” Stiles scratches the back of his neck and heads upstairs.

A couple minutes later, the pack hears Stiles mutter, “Shit! Fuck! Seriously Scott?!” from the bathroom before Scott’s phone buzzes.

From Stiles: “omg. ur the worst. ppl are over and you let me hang out in my bleached batman boxers and old say hi if ur bi hey if ur gay shirt! ur fired”

Mortified, Stiles strips out of his clothes and brushes his teeth vigorously while the shower warms up. Lydia’s right, he looks rough. He stares into the mirror, scratching at his stubble before deciding he’s in no condition to shave without bloodshed.

By the time he steps out of the shower, he feels mostly human again. He wraps a towel around his waist and tries to tame his hair a bit, but they already saw his bedhead and rumpled, margarita-stained, slightly-too-tight shirt, so now pretty much anything is bound to be an improvement. He was mostly out to the pack anyway. And he’s long since given up on the crushes he’s had on any of them. Plus, just being clean of blood and troll entrails puts him miles ahead of the worst they’ve seen him.

Stiles heads across the hall with a towel around his waist and dirty clothes in his hand. He goes to grab a clean shirt but finds that the drawer is empty. So is the closet. Then he remembers: yesterday he had actually gathered about 6 weeks of dirty laundry and threw it in the hamper and put the extra in a big garbage bag that he hid in the corner of the closet, like a semi-adult. He wanted the place clean in case he finally brought someone home. Wishful thinking as usual, he muses as he sighs.

Now the cleanest of the dirties smell rank like everything else. It’s either go shirtless around the muscle brigade and Lydia or put back on yesterday’s club shirt that he also slept in. A shirt that he might have chosen for the pack–especially Derek–not to have seen. He sniffs at it and hangs his head. Stiles decides the shirt will have to do because it’s way too hot to wear a hoodie. The official part of the meeting is over, anyway, so if the wolfies have any olfactory objections, they could just take their noses elsewhere. As long as they left the pizza.

The coffee and shower had cleared his head, and now he’s STARVING. He uses tape to get the glitter off the shirt as best he can and slips it back over his head after using half a stick of deodorant.

Luckily he still has clean underwear, so he throws the Batman boxers on the floor and slips on boxer briefs and his softest jeans. Mmmmmm, comfy. If he weren’t so hungry, he’d just ignore everyone and crawl back in bed. Just as he’s loading his wallet and phone in his pockets, he hears the doorbell. Ugh, he’s soooooooo hungry.

“Outta my way, you ravenous beasts! You better save me at least 4 slices!” he yells as he throws himself down the hall toward the living room. Everyone just rolls their eyes, but Stiles sees an empty place on the couch next to Derek, who has his hand holding one of the boxes closed. He rises an eyebrow at Stiles and nods toward the seat, handing Stiles the half-full box once he’s seated Stiles is a bit speechless. Derek stares as Stiles shoves an entire slice in his mouth at once.

“Hi Stiles,” Derek says wryly, staring at him. “Have some pizza.”

“Whoever you are, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers,” he says with a drawl after he swallows. He even bats his eyelashes for full effect.

“Hey. Don’t choke,” Derek tells him. Confused by how nice, relatively talkative, and unusually attentive Derek is being toward Stiles, the pack watches their interaction like a zoo exhibit.

The pizza is demolished in 5 minutes and people start to wander away but Derek lingers. At the door, Derek stares at him and quietly says “Hi Stiles.”

“Duuuuuuuude, it’s like you don’t know how words work. I mean, I know you don’t use them often. But, since you’re LEAVING, the word you’re looking for is ‘bye.'”

“Yes,” he growls, giving Stiles a meaningful look. Meaning what, however, Stiles has no idea.

“Dude, it’s a valid observation and you know it. What is with you today?”

Derek growls again and grabs at the bottom hem of Stiles’s shirt, fingers grazing just above the button of his jeans. Stiles gasps and looks down, opening his mouth to object but it turns into a loud inhale. He blinks rapidly at his shirt then up at Derek.

“Oh … um …,” Stiles whispers reverently. He tilts his head to the side, sure he must be misreading the situation. Derek continues to look at him, but his expression softens. Stiles thinks his knees might give out.

“Hi Derek,” he says quietly. “Do you want to stay behind and help me clean up?”

Derek gives him a small smile and leans in to whisper in his ear, “Rather help you get dirty.”

Later that night, they run into Stiles’s dad at the convenience store at the end of his shift. Stiles looks at him pointedly when he sees the bacon in his hands. The Sheriff is about to give in and put the bacon back until he sees the shirt Stiles is wearing and then squints at the fleck of glitter on Derek’s neck. He looks back at Stiles and smirks.

Stiles flushes and chokes out, “Ok, Pops. Fine. You win this round.”

The Sheriff leans over to look at the small box Derek is holding behind his back then looks at Stiles smugly as he grabs a second package of bacon.

“Bye, Dad!” Stiles yells, frantically pulling Derek away.

“Obviously, son.”

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