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The car is a little too cold to be comfortable but the smell of hot food warms Stiles to his very soul. He rolls up the window as Isaac walks away as inconspicuous as possible so that he and Derek can get back to their super serious, totally legitimate stakeout. And, yea, ok, so maybe there is a very good chance that there are some vamps or ghouls or witches or something in the building across the street (because Beacon Hills is a supernatural shithole) but Stiles can see this for what it is.
Derek is totally trying to get into his pants.
What’s cleverly disguised as a stakeout is actually a ploy. And Stiles would know all about ploys. Hell, he’s been working his way up to trying one out on the big bad wolf himself but the timing hasn’t been quite right. Nope. This is totally a ruse. It’s not exactly normal behavior for Derek to come drag him away from his homework so that they can sit in suffocating silence in the back seat of his Toyota. Scott’s usually the one that gets wrapped up in this mess; Stiles is the one that jumps in at the last second to pick up their shit.
And plus, not giving Stiles enough time to grab a jacket? Totally the perfect excuse to get all cuddly. The backseat? What better place to get cuddly- and what a worse place to use for a stakeout. And don’t even get Stiles started on the magical food delivery. Stiles knows he’s being wooed. He knows what wooing looks like. And he is a hundred percent willing (eager) to let himself be wooed.
Derek snatches the hot bag before Stiles is finished absorbing as much heat from it as possible and he lets out an indignant squawk.
“I was using that,” he grumps. Derek throws a wrapped burger at his face and pulls out his own burger and cup of curly fries. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.” He side-eyes Derek belligerently, a warm, pleasantly-wooed feeling welling up inside of him until he notices one make all break all detail. He reaches over and seizes back food bag only to find it agonizingly empty. For a whole minute, he looks between the empty bag and the cup of steaming hot curly fries in Derek’s lap. “Gimme those!”
No one can ever argue that Stiles’ reflexes can’t hold up against a werewolf’s because he manages to at least get a grip on the cup before Derek is tugging it back with a disgruntled look.
“These are mine,” he growls out and Stiles very nearly smacks him for his stupidity. Honestly, how does he expect this whole wooing thing to go over if he doesn’t share his curly fries? They’re curly fries and he’s Stiles. That’s the most basic formula for some serious wooing.
“I love curly fries, dude,” Stiles points out because, benefit of the doubt, maybe Derek isn’t privy to that crucial piece of information.
“So? I asked Isaac to get some for me. Eat your burger.”
Without letting go, Stiles looks down at the wrapped burger currently being squished by his attempt to steal the fries and help Derek woo him. It’s for the greater good, he tells himself.
“The fries are nice and hot, though. They’ll warm me up because it’s fucking freezing. C’mon dude.”
With an aggressive eye roll, Derek jerks his fries back and stuffs two in his mouth just to be a spiteful ass. He swallows and glares at Stiles. “First you won’t shut up about being hungry, now you won’t shut up about being cold,” he states blankly. Stiles rolls his eyes right back, trying to mimic the Hale trademark skillfully enough to strain a muscle.
“I’m trying to help you.” Good god, it’s like the man has never met him.
Derek’s expression is comically confused as he goes back to watching the building and eating his burger. Stiles grumps a little as he unwraps his own and goes to town. He really is freakishly hungry, but considering he missed dinner and it’s late enough for his Adderall to have worn off, he’s allowed to be a little vocal about it. And he’s pointing out- not complaining- about being cold so Derek will take the damn hint and put his arm around his shoulders all smooth like or give him his jacket so Stiles forget to give it back at the end of the night.
For a long minute, there’s nothing in the backseat of the car except for some creepy werewolf long distance staring, eating, and Stiles very inconspicuously scooching over. He’s already made it to the middle seat before Derek notices. He lifts an eyebrow and gives him a look and Stiles raises both of his in retaliation. Brow work, point to Derek in the wooing department; Stiles is a sucker for those eyebrows.
Derek keeps watching like Stiles is his own personal train wreck but Stiles chooses to interpret it as pleased anticipation. He reaches over very slowly, takes the cup of curly fries, and pushes himself into Derek’s lap. His body is worlds warmer than the cold leather of the seat and already Stiles feels the chills leaving his limbs. Another point for Derek (even though his body heat is more an involuntary function, Stiles is feeling generous).
“Stiles…” Derek’s voice is low and would be threatening but Stiles knows better. Oh he totally knows and he pushes back until Derek has no choice but to hook his chin over Stiles shoulder or else lose sight of their mark. He starts to vibrate somewhere deep in his chest and Stiles can’t hear the growl but he sure as hell can feel it and wow he never knew that was a thing for him until now. Give the man another point.
“Alright, alright, geez, turn down the charm, there,” Stiles placates and tries his best not to sound sarcastic. “I’m sufficiently wooed, but this is going to turn a bit too steamy if you keep that up.”
The growl turns into a surprised cough that rips through Derek in a violent lurch. “Stiles!” he all but shouts. Stiles prods his cheek with one finger to make up for the fact that he can’t face Derek straight on and inhales a curly fry.
“Don’t get pissy with me. You’re not getting any more of this,” he gestures to his body with both hands occupied by a burger and fries and with a vulgar little hip wiggle that draws another strangled cough from the werewolf, “until you take me out on a proper date."
There’s another long moment where neither of them say anything. Then Derek pulls his free arm around Stiles’ waist and lifts his burger up with the other. Stiles grins and grins like a total loon and pops a victory fry in his mouth. Yea, he’s feeling pretty wooed. Thoroughly wooed. Over the moon wooed. Never say Stiles doesn’t know when he’s being wooed. He is totally on top of this. He’d pay good money to bet that this went exactly the way Derek was hoping the night would go. Better than.
Derek digs his fingers into Stiles ribs until he wiggles. “Will you at least give me my god damn fries?”
Feeling a little generous, Stiles lifts one fry to pop into Derek’s waiting mouth. “Face it dude, these fries are mine.”
Derek tries to reach around Stiles to grab at the cup. “They are not.”
Stiles is only just able to keep the fries away from greedy grabby werewolf hands. “You don’t have to pretend anymore, dude. I’m wooed, romanced, totally smitten. Enough with the pretenses!” With some acrobatics graced to him by long limbs, he manages to get a fry in his mouth without Derek grabbing it for himself.
“Pre… What? Stiles just give me my food!”
“Stop pretending and cuddle me Derek!”
“I will cuddle you to death if you don’t give me my food.” It’s obvious to both of them about three seconds after the sentence is spoken how utterly ridiculous the words are coming out of Derek’s mouth. Stiles laughs so hard that he doesn’t even care he loses the curly fries.
Derek manages to look grumpy even while eating the most delicious food on the planet and Stiles takes pity on him enough to tone it down to a few chuckles. He only steals one more fry and lets Derek finish them without protest.
They continue the stakeout in relative silence for a while until Stiles decides that he wants Derek to woo him some more.
“Dereeeeeeek. My face is cold.”
“I’m going to murder you in your sleep.”
(He totally presses his cheek closer to Stiles’.)