Sterek One Shots

I'm Here

Somehow this small idea became a 6578 word one shot...oops.

—

When all else fails, go to a gay club. And by "all else", Stiles means when all of his friends happen to have plans on the same night, and he's left with absolutely nothing to do at home.

The music is so loud Stiles can feel the beat vibrating through his body and making him a little dizzy, the flashing lights only add to him being disoriented. Not to mention every person in the confined space dancing, bumping into Stiles, making him wobble through the crowd.

"Jeez," someone comments from behind, catching his arm before the teen topples over, "You might he more drunk than I am." Stiles has heard this voice before. His curiosity gets the best of him once they've made it to a corner, and Stiles looks over his shoulder. Derek visibly pales at the familiar face. After a moment to snap out of the daze, Derek turns on his heels, frantically trying to escape.

What the hell? Derek is gay? Derek Hale? The same Derek Hale I've gone to school with since the fourth grade?

Despite the overwhelming wave of confusion, Stiles chases after him. Clearly Derek doesn't want anyone to know, but he's drunk and he probably drove himself here.

"Wait, hold on a minute!" He calls after the other male, practically shoving his way through the mass of bodies. "Get your ass back here!" He shouts this time, the back of Derek's head disappearing further into the distance. Stiles is sure Derek has less of a problem moving people out of his way, which is making this a little more difficult.

Just as the exit comes into view, it clicks shut behind an army green v-neck.

"Damnit," Stiles curses under his breath.

As soon as he gets outside, Stiles' eyes search for the same shade of green, but comes up empty. Further down the street he spots a leather jacket with hands shoved into the pockets, and a weaving speed walk.

Got him.

And if anything else could go possibly wrong it would...and does. Stiles is no more than six feet behind Derek when blinding red and blue lights cast themselves across the entire street.

Derek freezes, looking over his shoulder in time to see Stiles rush to his side, and the sheriff stand from the drivers seat of his police cruiser. The Hale wonders what he's done to deserve this.

"Just shut up and let me handle this," Stiles whispers as he loops their arms together.

"Derek," Noah says pointedly, then his attention adverts to his son, "Stiles, what's going on here?" With a cheeky smile, Stiles shakes his head. "Derek and I took Danny to the club and someone spiked the big guys drink," he pats Derek's shoulder with a small grin before looking at his dad, "I was about to drive him home. It wasn't his fault dad, honestly, he was just being a good friend."

"Is this true, Derek?"

He only manages a nod, gulping silently, then bowing his head again. Heaving a sigh, Noah nods, "Alright. Get him home safely, okay?"

"I will dad."

Stiles exhales a sharp breath, beginning to drag Derek further down the sidewalk where his Jeep is parked.

"Okay, big guy, in you go."

—

"Hey, Stilinski, what the hell was that on the field? Come at me again, see what happens," Jackson threatens, invading Stiles' personal space in the locker room. "It's called lacrosse, Jackass, you were on the apposing team and therefore, I ran at you. Last time I checked, that's how it worked," Stiles sasses back with an eye roll. "You like to run your mouth, don't you? Let's see how well you talk with a busted lip, huh?"