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Danny had a plan that involved this Italian that trod the line between romantic and cheesy and an off-beat sporting event which was just the right kind of whimsical for Stiles. Roller derby. It was cool, mildly violent and they weren’t likely to run into anyone they knew. It didn’t have the hook up and dance pressure of going to a club. It also wasn’t so casual that it could be mistaken as a casual friends thing, like going to the movies. Danny had moves and he knew how to plan an awesome date.
Except for the fact Stiles put a spoke in the wheels, so to speak.
The house was nearly dark when Danny pulled up, a faint light shining through the window on the front door from somewhere upstairs. There was also no sign of any cars in the drive but that wasn’t unusual. The Jeep might be at the mechanic’s again. It was more the entire lack of Stiles bouncing through the door when he rang the bell that made him worry. Those mysterious bruises – sick green and yellow, days old – swam through Danny’s mind and he leaned on the door bell again.
The door opened slowly and Danny could only make out Stiles trying to hide behind the door because of the faint glow from the streetlights.
“Hey man!” Danny aimed for cheerful and upbeat. He was probably missing it by a country mile, but he tried at least.
“Danny?” Stiles sounded confused for a moment. Then, stronger, his voice cleared and he sounded angry. “Shit. We had a date.”
Danny wondered for a moment if all this shit was worth it. Stiles was obviously hiding something and that was something Danny wasn’t exactly into with a boyfriend. Too much epic bullshit to bother with. On the other hand, from the way Stiles was still hiding himself behind the door and not switching on the lights suggested something was really wrong and Danny was too much of a nice guy to walk away right now.
“Our first date,” Danny said. “But we can reschedule.”
“Yeah. That’d be…” Stiles came out from behind the door a little more, smiling. That was when Danny caught sight of the rather spectacular black eye Stiles was sporting. He’d been fine at school earlier. Danny’s mind lurched from panic to sympathy before settling on a more pragmatic solution.
“You got ice for that?”
They ended up in Stiles’s bedroom, lying shoulder to shoulder on the bed. Stiles had obviously been up here when Danny rang the doorbell, trying to recover from what looked like an almighty beat down. Stiles had a bag of frozen peas wrapped up in a dishcloth which he pressed against his face like it might almost hide him from Danny. On the way up the stairs, Danny had noticed that Stiles was favoring his left leg and he’d winced when Danny had bumped against his side, unable to control the automatic reaction to a flash of pain.
Danny had pulled out his tablet and was flicking through food options. “How do you feel about Indian?”
“Couldn’t eat a whole one?” Stiles’s attempt at humor – poor as it was – fell flat. “It’d be nice.”
Danny hummed as he grabbed his cell and ordered for them both. The silence between them was uncomfortable. Stiles was breathing easier now he was lying down, like maybe he’d taken some pills and they’d kicked in. Danny settled carefully on the edge of the bed, trying not to jostle the prone figure. “I had this awesome date planned, you know.” He was mildly bitter.
“Yeah. What were you going to do with me?” Stiles waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and then stopped short, wincing a little.
Danny laughed. He couldn’t help it. He liked Stiles. He liked the way Stiles smiled and he liked the way Stiles was able to make anything ridiculous. He was interested in finding out what Stiles was hiding with his whole class clown persona. And then there was Stiles’s mouth, its always parted, always ready, tongue constantly dipping out to moisten it and make Danny think dirty thoughts. He wanted to do things with Stiles, yeah. But on the other hand, he wasn’t quite sure he was ready to deal with the lying.
He was quite ready to deal with the idea of looking after Stiles, just a little bit. The way that bruises seemed to be a constant feature…
“You’ll tell me, right? When you’re ready?” Danny had ended up sprawled across the end of the bed, passing cartons up to where Stiles was cushioned by just about every pillow Danny could find. He’d managed to persuade Stiles into pulling up Whip It on Netflix – if they weren’t going to see Roller Derby, they could at least watch the film, though they’d mostly ignored it for the food.
Stiles nodded. “It’s not just my decision, but I will.” He smiled then, totally ignorant to the smear of sauce on his cheek.
Danny reached up, balancing a little precariously, to wipe at it. Stiles shifted, his mouth getting in the way of Danny’s fingers and then they were kissing, Danny stretched up over the takeout and Stiles not pushing too hard against the pillows. Behind on them, on the computer, some Indie tune indicated skating that should be catching their attention. But nothing was going to pull Danny away from Stiles’s mouth, his soft lips, the faint taste of Bombay Aloo. Nothing as inane as a movie.
Danny had been listening to the window open before he realized what it was. He pulled back, shocked, as the guy he’d finally realized was Derek Hale slithered into the room, with a familiarity that suggested he came here often. Derek was crouched on the carpet, one arm in the air, when it final struck Danny what the problem was. Derek’s fingernails were claws, his impressive eyebrows had migrated to his sideburns and his eyes were, no getting around it, red.
“So, uh, Danny.” Stiles shifted under him on the bed. “That thing I was going to tell you…”