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Stiles tried not to stomp on his way to the elevator. He really did. He was in college, for God's sake, he wasn't a teenager any more,and yet—
Okay, he stomped a little. And punched the "down" arrow a little harder than necessary. He was frustrated. It was allowed.
He heard Derek come up behind him, could feel the question simmering in the air between them. Fortunately, the elevator opened right then, and Stiles could escape it. Briefly.
They still had to ride home together. Dammit.
As soon as the doors closed, Derek asked, "What's wrong?"
Stiles shrugged his shoulders, hoping to loosen some of the tension that had coiled there. It didn't help. "Nothing. I'm fine."
He swore he actually heard Derek's eyes roll. "You know, I can hear it when you lie."
Stiles bit his lips so hard it was a wonder he didn't bite through them. "I don't want to talk about it right now." I don't want to talk about it ever would be more accurate, but Stiles knew that wouldn't fly. He'd just hope Derek would forget about it by the time they got into the car.
Naturally, that was when the elevator made a horrific groaning noise and shuddered to a halt, trapping them between floors.
Derek frowned. "That didn't sound good."
"No shit, Sherlock."
Derek pointedly ignored him and pressed the call button, and spoke briefly with a maintenance tech on the other end of the speaker. Stiles strained to hear what the tech was saying, but all he caught was "twenty minutes or more." Almost half an hour before the elevator would start up again.
Fuck his life, seriously. Stiles wanted to bash his head against the wall until he reached blissful unconsciousness.
Derek leaned against the opposite wall and slid his gaze to Stiles. "Well, looks like we're going to be stuck here awhile. Still don't want to talk about it?"
"Nope," Stiles said, inflecting the word with as much venom as he could muster.
Derek shrugged and closed his eyes.
Stupid werewolf not-boyfriends. Stiles swallowed and glared at the corner of the elevator. Stupid werewolf not-boyfriends and stupid birthday parties and stupid sexy mercenary ex-girlfriends who were way hotter than Stiles would ever be and—
"You gave her wine!" Stiles finally burst out.
Derek startled. "What?"
Stiles flailed at the elevator door. "You gave her a bottle of wine for her birthday."
Derek frowned again, but this time it looked to be in confusion. "...Yes?"
Stiles waited for Derek to get it.
"And...you're...mad about that?" Derek asked slowly.
"Ding ding ding! Ten points for the werewolf!"
"Why?"
"Because it's a romantic gift," Stiles said. "Seriously, do I have to spell everything out?"
Derek looked at him blankly. "It's wine," he said after a long minute. "It's the standard host gift."
Stiles jabbed a finger at him. "It's red wine. You might as well have handed her a bouquet of red roses!"
"It was a twenty dollar bottle of pinot noir!"
"Exactly. I saw Sideways. Pinot noir is romantic. Why couldn't you have given her a white wine instead? That's a friend wine! That's like giving carnations."
Derek's brow knitted in consternation. Good. He should be consternated.
"Have you been reading Cosmo again?" Derek finally asked. "Because you know that magazine is bullshit."
"No, Lydia cancelled her subscription. But that's not the point!" Stiles glared at Derek. "The point is, you gave your ex-girlfriend a romantic gift. If you didn't want this to go anywhere, you could have just said, instead of letting me find out like this."
Derek looked gobsmacked. "Wait, what?"
Stiles shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away. His throat burned, but he forced the words out. "I know I'm not—I'm still just a gangly kid to you, but—and I know she's really sexy and ten kinds of badass and—" Wow, way to be articulate, Stiles.
The next thing he knew, Derek was crowding him against the wall of the elevator. "You think I want to get back with her?"
Stiles stiffened at the sudden closeness, at the way his treacherous body wanted to sink into Derek. "You gave her wine; what was I supposed to think?"
Derek settled his hands on either side of Stiles's head and leaned in, so close Stiles could count his eyelashes. "You've been reading the wrong magazines. Wine isn't a romantic gift. Champagne is."
"Champagne?" Stiles repeated dumbly, because his entire brain had apparently gone offline.
Derek nodded. "Champagne is very romantic. Wine, on the other hand, doesn't get romantic until you spend at least a hundred dollars on the bottle. Sophisticated, yes, but not romantic."
Stiles gulped and cursed his brain for being unable to come up with a comeback. "Is that so?" he finally stammered out.
"She and I broke up for a reason," Derek said softly. "I don't want to be with her. I want to be with you. I thought you knew that, but apparently you don't."
The way he said it made Stiles's heart drop into his stomach. "Derek, I—"
"Which means I haven't been very clear about it." Derek dropped his hands away from the elevator wall and settled them on Stiles's hips, trailing his fingers along the top of his pants to the button. "Which means I'm going to have to do a better job of showing you."
And then Derek was kneeling down and popping the top of his jeans open and holy shit, Stiles was about to spontaneously combust in the elevator.
"What are you doing?" Stiles whispered fiercely. He had no idea why he whispered; there wasn't anybody around to hear them.
Derek just arched one eyebrow up at him and eased his jeans over his hips. "What does it look like I'm doing?"
Stiles wasn't hard yet, but his dick was starting to get interested. Having Derek's mouth six inches from his crotch tended to do that. "You can't blow me in an elevator! There are going to be maintenance dudes here soon!"
Derek flattened his hands, large and hot, against Stiles's thighs and kneaded gently. "I want to blow you in an elevator, if you'll let me. Besides, we have at least ten minutes. That's plenty of time."
Stiles laughed a little hysterically. "Oh yeah? You've got a pretty high opinion of your mouth, asshole."
Derek fucking smirked at him. "Well, do you want to find out or not?"
Yeah, his dick was definitely interested. "Hell yeah, I do."
Derek yanked down his underwear and pressed his face into Stiles's crotch, inhaling deeply and nuzzling him there. It was painfully sweet, and not at all what Stiles had anticipated from the beginnings of elevator head. He had to grit his teeth against the whimper that threatened to escape.
But Derek didn't get his mouth on his dick; instead, he pressed gentle kisses along the V of Stiles's hips and kept kneading his thighs. It was faintly ticklish, with Derek's stubble, but mostly it served to get all the blood in Stiles's body to rush straight to his cock.
"We don't have a lot of time for foreplay," Stiles managed to say.
"We have a few minutes," Derek murmured. "And this is important."
"Elevator head is important?"
Derek paused and looked up at Stiles, his pale green eyes so serious and earnest it took Stiles's breath away. "You're important," he said. "You've always been important to me."
Stiles's heart triple-thumped in his chest, and for one of very few times in his life, his mouth wouldn't fucking work.
"I can't say it yet. What you really need to hear, I can't say it yet," Derek continued, his gaze never breaking from Stiles's. "This is too new, and too many bad things have happened when I've said it before. But that doesn't make it any less true. You're important to me, and I trust you."
Stiles continued to gape, his mouth moving uselessly, because of all the places he'd expected to hear a love declaration from Derek Hale, it hadn't been trapped in an elevator and immediately pre-blow job.
"I get it. Believe me, I get it," he said. "And...me too. You're important to me, too." I love you, too.
Derek smiled, just the slightest twitch of his lips, something soft and private and damn, Stiles felt like he'd won the fucking lottery just getting to see that.
Then Derek flicked his tongue just over the head of Stiles's dick, and Stiles nearly brained himself on the elevator wall.
Derek smirked, the asshole. "Now let's see what we can do with five minutes."
***
As it turned out, Derek, using just his mouth and one well-placed finger, needed only four minutes and thirty-six seconds to make Stiles come so hard his vision went blurry and he was pretty sure he saw God.
They were going to explore the fingering again later, oh God, so much exploration of that particular development.
Stiles was still waiting for his brain to come back online when the elevator screeched and groaned itself back to life. Derek stood smoothly and straightened them both up, tucking Stiles back into his pants and zipping him up, and then pressing a perfectly chaste kiss to the corner of Stiles's slack mouth. Like he hadn't just blown him in a fucking elevator.
Derek stepped back, gave one more perfunctory tug to Stiles's shirt, and then the elevator dinged and the doors slid open.
Scott was right outside the elevator. "Oh my God, are you guys o—" He stopped and choked, and then slapped his hand over his nose and mouth. "Holy shit."
Stiles put all the post-orgasmic bliss he felt right into his grin and staggered out of the elevator. "Heeeeey, Scotty."
"I was going to ask if you were okay, but I'm guessing the answer is fine." Scott screwed up his nose. "Oh, man, you reek."
"Of awesomeness," Stiles retorted. "Because my boo is the best."
Scott turned to Derek with the most betrayed look. "Why?" he whined.
Derek shrugged. "We were having an argument. I won."
"Dude, if this is losing," Stiles waved a hand over his crotch, "I will lose every argument we ever have."
Derek laughed out loud, and it was fucking beautiful. "I'm holding you to that."