First Date (Teen Wolf)

Stiles is late.

He's supposed to be on his first date with the hot guy he's been angsting over for the past month but he's somewhere in London instead, staring at the underground map. Because, no matter how much his friends try to teach him how to read them, he doesn't think he's ever going to get that skill. He like to reassure himself that he has time since he's only two months into his year abroad and Christmas break is coming up, giving him all the time in the world to explore.

He doesn't have that time now, though, not when it's ten minutes past seven so he calls the smartest girl he knows.

"Hey, Lydia, I think I'm lost."

"Oh, Stiles," she says but there's a fondness he can hear in her voice, "aren't you supposed to be on your date right now?"

"Yeah," he said, grimacing, "I'm currently in Marble Arch, trying to find my way to St Paul's."

She sighs, "Did you not think to look up directions to the Paternoster Chop House anytime over the past month?"

Apparently, 'I did but London is confusing' isn't a suitable answer.

"Okay," Lydia says, after a few seconds of quiet mocking, "you want to take the Central line to St Paul's station and then it's a two minute walk from there. If you're lucky, you won't miss him."

"Have I told you that you're amazing recently?"

"Sweetie, I know."

Someone must be looking out for Stiles that night because he just manages to catch the train and they're actually early to his stop which is lucky because he's quarter of an hour late by then. He runs most of the way before he sees the sign for the first date restaurant and slows his pace in an effort to look fashionably late rather than mortifyingly unprepared for adult life. He probably doesn't succeed, all flushed cheeks and panting breaths, but it's the thought that counts. It's something Stiles firmly believes in because, otherwise, he wouldn't be able to get out of bed most days.

"Hi," he says to the doorman at the front of the restaurant, "my name's Stiles, I'm supposed to be meeting someone?"

The guy, to his credit, doesn't even blink when Stiles all but throws his coat at him, "Yes, your date has already arrived."

He's led to the bar, which is empty except for a leather jacket draped across a stool, and orders whiskey straight up, no ice.

"That kind of day?" the bartender asks.

"With me, that's every kind of day."

She winces in sympathy but assures him, "I wouldn't worry, I can promise you your day is going to turn right around when you see your date."

"I saw his picture online," Stiles admits, "he was kind of dreamy."

"All the dreamy," she agrees.

She's not kidding, either, and Stiles swears he can feel it in the room when the guy comes back because he has that kind of presence. And, being best friends with Scott, it doesn't take him more than a second to figure out he's a werewolf which means he's not only ridiculously attractive but also blessed with fast reflexes and advanced healing. The guy is a steal.

"Hi," Stiles says, smiling at him, "I'm Stiles."

He doesn't miss the way his eyes run over him before he smiles back, completely transforming his face into something more beautiful, breathtaking, "I'm Derek, pleased to meet you."

"The pleasure's all mine."

"Have you been waiting long?"

"I literally got here a minute ago, what about you?"

The smile's still playing on his lips, "It was worth waiting for."

Stiles feels like he's passed a test.

They make small talk for bit and, as their conversation goes on, Stiles gradually loses his nerves about being filmed and recorded for a TV show. It's weird, really, because he never thought he'd be taking part in something like this but he's glad that he has because Derek makes him laugh and wakes up all the butterflies in his stomach.

"Excuse me, are you ready to come through?"

Stiles is surprised the wait for a table is already over, barely aware that any time had passed, "Yeah, sure, that'd be great."

"Please, follow me."

They sit down in the centre of the room where it's nicely lit and they're handed two menus with the promise of a waitress coming by soon.

"This is nice," Derek says, opening his, "I was a little worried about the blind date, to be honest."

Stiles stares, "You were worried?"

"Of course I was, it's normal to be nervous before a date."

It's too early for Stiles to start waxing lyrical about Derek's face and his stubble and, holy crap, his arms but he feels like he really ought to. The guy's hot, like burning, but he doesn't have the confidence to go with it and Stiles feels like he should, like someone should've told him what he has. But he'd be lying if he said it didn't make him feel a little more confident, though, because he likes that: guys who have some humility. And Derek is shaping up to be everything he wants.

"I think it's impressive," he says instead, "that you decided to come on a blind date, which might be televised, when you're that nervous."

Derek laughs, shaking his head, "My sister, Laura, forced me into it. She's almost as scary and involved in my love life as my mother."

"Werewolf families, right?"

Derek's head jerks up at that, "What?"

Stiles grins, "My best friend's a were, bitten not born, but he tells me stories about other werewolves he's met and they have meddling parents."

"So," he says, a faux casual he doesn't quite pull off, "not from personal experience, then?"

He laughs, "The less involved my father is, the better."

"You're not close, then?"

"No, we're close, he's just a little too fond of bringing out his gun and threatening people." And Stiles thinks that's the worst thing he could say to a prospective boyfriend so he quickly adds. "We're American, which, actually, probably doesn't make things better so let me start again. My dad's the sheriff and he's an upstanding member of society who would never shoot a werewolf."

"You know, I can tell when you're lying."

Damn.

"There was this one time just after Scott had been turned when he went a little feral and my dad might have shot him then. It was all good fun," he said blithely, "my dad didn't have wolfsbane bullets then and the local Alpha was more than happy to help out."

Derek was frowning, brow furrowed, "Where does we work as a sheriff?"

"Far away from here," Stiles said reassuringly.

"California?"

"Can you tell that from my accent?"

"No, I can tell that because my mom took in a were called Scott after the Sheriff shot him."

It took Stiles a second to register that and then he was grinning, "You're mom's Talia? She's so badass!"

Derek groans, rubbing his hands across his face, "I can't believe I've travelled to England and my date knows my mom."

"And Laura, too," he says, now that he thinks about it, "she always makes cookies and cupcakes for me and then absolutely reams Scott when he doesn't perform fast enough in training. She has such a soft spot for me, I love it."

"Oh, God, you two together will be the death of me."

"Whoa there, big boy, we haven't even picked our starters yet and you're already assuming I'm going to form some nefarious partnership with your sister."

He glares at him, though there's no heat in it, "Anyone that Laura likes already has a nefarious partnership with her."

Stiles tilts his head, "Probably true."

They take a break from talking to look over their menu choices and then Stiles is making wisecracks about oysters and their benefits as an aphrodisiac and Derek's trying to stifle his laughter. It's how the rest of the evening goes, and it just feels so natural that Stiles forgets about the microphone on their table (cleverly hidden in the flowers) or the fact the waitress is an actor. When the night draws to an end, having shared dessert and tried to feed each other, Derek places his card on the bill.

"What are you doing?" Stiles asked, "I know I said I was a poor student but I can afford to split a bill."

"Maybe I wanted to treat you."

And Stiles isn't against free food—he's a student, after all—but he doesn't like owing people. "Hey, that's not fair, I can pay."

"Or," Derek suggests, that shy smile coming back again, "you could pay for our drinks later tonight?"

Stiles gets wholly behind that idea.

He hits Derek with five wolfbane-infused shots before they even think about getting on the dancefloor and he remembers grinding up against him, broad hands warm on his hips, but that's it. He finds his snapchat story the next morning and there's a few blurry photos but he can make out Derek and his smile and he thinks it's a good night.

Laura's delighted.

Based on the First Dates TV series because I actually really like the show.