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Happy Sterek Week!


            It’s been two hours and a cup of coffee he knows he’s not allowed to bring into the library and he still hasn’t found everything he needs for the report. It’s getting dark outside and the shower in the lacrosse lockerroom he’d had earlier is already feeling like it wasn’t enough to be clean, not after working so hard to show the coach he could play first line this year. It’s almost looking possible, if he can just keep his grades up, but he can’t help wondering how he’s supposed to get anything done when he can feel the librarian’s stare on his back like a lead weight.

            He knows it can’t be because it’s closing time, because it’s not quite closing time and it certainly wasn’t closing time when Stiles walked into the place. It’s not a constant stare, and it’s not as subtle as he knows the guy is trying to be, but it’s there and it’s distracting and Stiles hasn’t been able to decide if he wants to wait and see what happens or if he could get away with striding over and asking if the guy minds staying after work for a bit. Stiles definitely wouldn’t mind staying after hours, not at all, not if it meant a chance for a makeout session amongst the bookshelves. Not if it meant a little more action at the help desk than was typical.

            There’s not even anyone else at the library this late, not in this town, and that sort of decides Stiles. With ten minutes left until the sign on the front door flips to closed, Stiles sweeps his homework into his bag and closes the cover on the last of the eighteen books he’s got spread all over the table. He steals a glance at the reference desk but the librarian is very carefully not looking at him, so he stacks the books neatly and deposits them on the return rack with as much noise as he can.

            It does the trick; the guy looks up with a pinched expression and Stiles wonders if he’s the one who has to file the books back in order before he can go home. He smiles when their eyes meet, and lays a hand on the books.

            "I can help you put them back," he offers, way too loudly for a library. Whatever, they’re alone so there’s no one to even be quiet for.

            "It’s fine," the guy says, but he’s sort of scowling a little and it would be adorable if Stiles didn’t feel like he’s going to fall into pale, pale eyes.

            "It’s no trouble—" he insists, as he saunters closer to the desk, close enough to read the guy’s name tag. "—Derek, is it?" Stiles smiles.

            Though a blush creeps over Derek’s face and he looks down as if embarrassed, he grumbles: “Oh good, you can read.” And it holds just enough bitchy irritation that Stiles can’t take it personally.

            Instead he laughs and leans on his folded forearms over the desk. “I can do a lot more than read,” he suggests, and he holds Derek’s gaze when he looks up, startled. He nods toward the rows and rows of bookshelves, all silent and devoid of life, and raises his eyebrows. “If you wanna turn the sign, maybe I could show you. We could, you know, reshelve some books or something.”

            "Or something," Derek echoes, only it sounds like a proposition, and Stiles smiles.

            "Yeah," he agrees, and he revels in the little thrill that courses though him as Derek pushes back his chair and gets to his feet.

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