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Tuesdays are the worst, in Derek's opinion. Nothing good happens on Tuesdays, and he would rather go start a fight with Chris Argent than have to be here every week. Tuesdays are the one weekday there isn't lacrosse practice; the one day Derek has to be here to pick up Isaac before the parking lot has emptied. Surrounded by teenagers. Who talk. And the only thing worse than them is their parents. People twice Derek's age talking about how much they'd like to get in his pants and whether or not he's getting in Isaac's.
So he sits in his car, outside the school, every Tuesday and waits for the bell to ring. When it does, he opens his senses toward the building, listening for each pack member and ally. Boyd is headed toward the library with a girl, talking about an English project and whether the supernatural is an overused genre. Lydia is with Allison, nearing the entrance.
Isaac is-
"You want me to kick his ass?" Isaac asks, sounding probably a little too eager.
"No, I don't want you to kick his ass," Stiles says. "Look, he's just being a dick. It's nothing I can't handle."
"You're sure?"
"Yes. Now go stalk Scott or something. Your sudden protective streak is giving me the creeps. Besides, I've had worse from you."
"Yeah. But that's different. You're pack. I don't mean any of it." There's a rustling of fabric, likely a shrug. "Later loser." Isaac's footsteps move away, but another set quickly takes their place. A few more sets, actually.
"Stilinski!" says a voice, deep and young. "Can't even get Lahey to fuck you, huh? Tough breaks, man." Isaac's steps stop down the hall, but don't turn back; just waiting.
"Wow, Dan, your empathy is touching," Stiles retorts, sarcasm dripping from his words in a way only he can manage. It's always kind of amazed Derek. "But I can't even begin to tell you how much time I don't have to waste talking to you." A locker door opens, then slams shut immediately, accompanied by Stiles's yelp and Derek can feel himself tense automatically.
"Why?" Dan asks. "Not like you've got a hot date." A few others laugh the laugh of a lackey, and one tries to contribute, but is shot down with a firm "shut up, Greenberg."
"Oh come on, Stilinski," and there's the sound of a body being pushed against the lockers, and the steering wheel creaks under the grip Derek has on it. These are just humans, and he tries to remember that Stiles can take care of himself. Isaac takes a couple step back towards them, but doesn't move in. "Laugh a bit!"
"Tell you what, let's make a deal," Stiles grits out. "You start being funny, and then I'll laugh."
"And maybe if you took the stick out of your ass, someone would finally shove their dick up there." Which snaps the cord that's been holding Derek back. These days Stiles is, well, a friend; someone who's saved Derek's ass more times than either of them remember. And he's done more for this town than any of them will ever know. Stiles is brave, and smart, and devoted, and he doesn't deserve this.
Getting out of the car, Derek strips off his jacket, left only in a ribbed tank that does nothing to hide his musculature. He knows how he looks, and the noise around him supports that, but the anger sparking up makes it easy to ignore the appreciative and occasionally disgusting comments from those he passes as he stalks toward his prey. Students in the hallway part for him without a word.
"-around Lydia Martin," someone is saying as Derek draws closer. "It's pathetic. You've been friend-zoned, man. Give it up." Isaac is practically buzzing with the desire to throw a punch, but stills when Derek puts a hand on his shoulder, then shivers when he meets the charming smile that's taken over the alpha's face.
"Okay, first of all, only douchebags use 'friend zone.' Second, just because you've never seen me with anyone doesn't mean I'm not with someone," Stiles snaps as he shoves a shorter but thicker teen away from him, but Derek can hear his heart flutter.
Usually the halls would be clear by now, but people seem to be lingering to watch the exchange. Scott, coming down the opposite end of the hallway lets out a low growl only the other weres can hear as groups of them keep blocking his path, but he stops dead when he catches sight of Derek.
Good. Derek doesn't need the interference.
"There you are!" he calls as he finally draws close, smile firmly in place, and the whole group snaps to look at him. "I've been waiting for you for five minutes. You know I hate waiting." Stepping in close to Stiles, he raises an eyebrow at the other teen, presumably Dan, until he backs off a few steps, a look of confused shock on his face.
The metallic thump when Stiles's back hits the lockers again is satisfying this time, as is the surprised expression he's trying to fight back, already catching on to Derek's plan. It's one of the things Derek like about him. But Stiles heart also starts racing as the smile that enthralled the rest of the hall is focused solely on him and Derek doesn't waste time moving in, pausing only long enough for Stiles to nod assent, licking his lips, before Derek goes chasing after that tongue with his own.
It's warm and wet and so much fucking better than Derek thought it would be. Because he has thought about this, far more and for far longer than he likes to admit even to himself. The hand running through his hair prompts him to worry at the lip caught between his teeth, and Derek is rewarded with a soft groan and a warm body pressed hard against his own. Heat runs through him, heading south fast, and those goddamn hands on his ass are the last straw. This can't go further. Not here.
He pulls back just a bit, sharing breath as he pants against Stiles mouth, steeling himself to separate further. There's a quiet whine when Derek steps back, just loud enough for him to hear and none of the humans, and taking another step away takes every ounce of willpower he has left. Once he does, though, everything sparks into motion. He barely takes a second to glance at the bullies' slackjawed faces as he grabs Stiles hand and leads him quickly down the hallway back the way he came. They're in the car and out of the parking lot before either of them works up to speaking.
"I didn't grab any of my homework," Stiles says, still sounding out of breath in a way that's doing cruel things to Derek's self-control.
"Text Scott to get it for you." Derek's voice is tense, but he can't help that, and there's a possibility the steering wheel is actually denting.
"Weren't you supposed to get Isaac?"
"... Text Scott for that too. Tell him to stay away from the apartment." He catches sight of Stiles, grinning, in his peripheral vision, and his chest tightens with the feelings building there. But he doesn't say anything further, just keeps his eyes straight ahead.
"So... we're gonna make out more back at your place, right?" Derek can't resist looking at him then, raising an incredulous eyebrow. "Right, stupid question."
"..."
"So that's a 'yes', right?" And Derek, not for the first time, questions why he likes Stiles.
But it's definitely a yes.