“So, Danny’s got you in the system and made it so you’re the first that - holy shit!” If Derek was a better person he wouldn’t enjoy this so much - Stiles’ open-mouthed shock and the flicker of arousal on the edge of Derek’s senses.
Derek knows what he looks like. He’s known since he grew into himself around eighteen/nineteen. He also knows what the ‘teacher’ outfit Lydia helped him pick out makes him look like. Stiles’ wide eyes and clenching-unclenching hands are proof.
“Are you? Are you smiling right now?” Stiles asks, dragging his eyes up from where the vest pulls tight across Derek’s chest.
“Teachers smile, Stiles,” Derek says, still smiling. “I’m doing what you always say I should - I’m practicing.”
Stiles swallows audibly and ducks his head, running a hand through his hair. He mutters something low enough for Derek to not be able to catch. It annoys him when Stiles does that but at the same time there’s something about it he likes - Stiles figuring out his limits. There was a time Stiles didn’t care about Derek’s limits.
“Yeah, well,” Stiles looks up, and Derek can tell he’s fortified himself by the stiffness of his shoulders. “If you don’t want some serious Professor Jones shit to go down you’ll need to tone it down.”
“I don’t know,” Derek says, leaning in a little and, why the hell not, waggling his eyebrows a bit. “Might be fun.”
“Stop that right now,” Stiles steps forward and wags a finger at him. “You’ve creeped on enough teenagers in your life. No more.”
Derek shrugs and pushes the glasses up his nose. He’s never worn anything other than sunglasses before - he doesn’t know how to deal with the thicker frames. Stiles’ eyes focus in on his finger as it touches the bridge and Derek tries contain a smirk. He doesn’t do very well.
“Glasses,” Stiles shakes his head. “Seriously?”
“I’m undercover,” Derek spreads his hands. Stiles snorts.
“As Clark Kent?”
Derek laughs because he can these days and the tense line of Stiles’ shoulders disappears. He’s always so pleased when Derek laughs. Like he’s won some kind of battle.
“Do you really need the vest?” Stiles asks, tilting his head and giving Derek a critical once over. Derek shrugs and unbuttons it, rolling his shoulders back so it slips off. Stiles’ eyes blow out wide again and he waves his hands frantically. “No. Nononono. That makes it worse. For the love of everything put it back on Jesus Christ you are unreal.”
“Yeah?” Derek pulls the vest back on but doesn’t button it, choosing instead to step into Stiles’ space. “I’m unreal?”
“Stop fishing for compliments,” Stiles says, huffing out a breath. “You know what you look like.”
“I like it when you slip up and tell me,” Derek says simply, laying a casual hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “You mean it differently than other people do.”
“Yeah, well,” Stiles puts a hand on Derek’s hip, just under the open material of the vest. “I mean a lot of things differently when it comes to you.”
“Good,” Derek says, closing the distance between them and kissing Stiles. It’s been about four years in the making and Derek had thought he probably would’ve been more nervous about it but there’s nothing in his heart but a huge swell of affection for Stiles. Who always treated him differently - it just took Derek too long to notice.
Stiles sighs into the kiss, raking the fingers of his free hand through Derek’s hair, and Derek lets Stiles steer it, gives him the lead. It’s good. Just like he always knew it would be.
They’re startled out of the moment by the obnoxious ringtone Stiles set his phone to and Stiles chuckles a little against Derek’s cheek before letting him go. Derek grabs the phone and looks at Stiles, all flushed skin and kiss-stained lips.
“We’re picking this up later,” Derek says, pointing at Stiles with one hand as he answers the phone.
“Yes, this is Mr. Hale,” Derek says into the phone as Stiles mutters you better fucking believe it just loud enough for him to hear. “Yes, I’m available.”