[Sterek] Cupboard Love (boyxboy) (complete)

Chapter 4

According to google maps, it's a twenty minute drive outside of town near the state park to the weird side road where Derek Hale lives. The local bus routes don't go anywhere near it, and there aren't even any convenience stores nearby. Just forest, really, which hey - maybe Derek Hale is a kind of mountain man who never shaves and spends all his time in the wilderness after a bad divorce or something. It's possible.

Or it was possible right up until Stiles realizes that the high, stone fence along the road wasn't protecting the state park, but demarcating the line of Derek Hale's property. He figures it out once he hits the large gate with an intercom system that Stiles has to half hang out of the driver's side window of his Jeep to reach.

"Uh, hi, hello! I'm Stiles; I've brought the-" He's cut off by a long beep before the gates swing inward automatically. "O-kay, the good news, Stiles, is that even if he's a serial killer, at least you gave Lydia his name before you came out here." The driveway is longer than the street Stiles lives on, full of twists and turns up a low incline until finally Stiles rounds yet another bend and sees a Mansion.

He's talking capital-M-Mansion, complete with an obnoxious fountain in the center of a roundabout drive shaded by palms, over-grown shrubs, and the encroaching forest.

Stiles turns off the engine and peers up through the windshield. It's two stories, but he's guessing they are really big stories because seriously, it's huge. Widely curving stone steps lead up to heavy double doors with actual brass knockers on them, like this is the house from Clue or something. Who has actual pillars along the front of a house? Derek Hale does, apparently, despite ordering food for one person for a week.

Maybe his wife, kids, and extensive staff are all on vacation for seven days. Maybe he killed them and buried their bodies in the woods.

Maybe Stiles should get the food out of the back seat and deliver it already so he can get back to the nice, safe city, and his shitty but serial-killer-free student apartment.

He's carefully balancing the sandwiches and the two biggest tupperware containers he could find that both had functioning lids when the front door opens and he almost drops everything right there in front of the stupid fountain.

If that's Derek Hale, he's definitely not a mountain man. He looks like he should be on the cover of a fireman charity calendar or something, because dude is hot like burning. He's tan, and tall, maybe a few years older than Stiles, and his forearms, which are clearly visible because despite it being pretty cold out he has the sleeves of his very soft looking grey sweater rolled up, are thickly muscled. Stiles stumbles forward a bit like a zombie, taking in more detail, like his grey-green eyes and the kind of stubbled jaw that Stiles would really like to put his mouth on, thank you, or his short, gently curling black hair that Stiles would like to get his hands on. Actually, Stiles would like to put his hands on all of that, and yes, he's mentally gesturing to all of him. He's stunning, gorgeous, but he also looks a little like someone Stiles could maybe curl up on a couch with and just fall asleep there. Must be the sweater.

"Kitchen is this way," Derek says through a scowl and turns and heads back into the house, as if he knows Stiles will follow. He's barefoot, and Stiles would take his shoes off, but he can either keep up with Derek or spill borscht all over the - seriously? - marble foyer and Stiles is guessing Derek wouldn't appreciate that very much.

Derek leads him past the curving staircase and through two large, echoingly empty rooms to a massive, gleaming kitchen that has very clearly never been used. Most of the far wall is made up of windows looking out onto a covered swimming pool and a large clearing, fenced off carefully from the forest.

Clearing is maybe an inadequate word for the sprawling mass of land.

There's a large island centered in the right half of the kitchen, near the sink and appliances, and cupboards covering most of the available wall space, top and bottom. Stiles would bet good money that they're either mostly empty or full of things Derek has never used.

Speaking of, Derek is glaring at him from beside the fridge.

"Sorry! Sorry, I just - you've uh, got a really nice kitchen here. Lots of space and storage," Stiles rambles, sliding everything onto the island. "Must be great at Thanksgiving or..or whatever. Nevermind. So! You want these in the fridge, or do you want to see what I've got first?"

Derek's eyes dip down to the (okay, fine, admittedly a little old but still totally functional thanks) tupperware and bundle of wrapped sandwiches. "What's in there?" He asks grudgingly.

"Smoked turkey, brie, and cucumber sandwiches on sourdough with crème fraiche," Stiles gestures. "I didn't know if you'd be eating them while working or outside or.. whatever." Whatever was definitely now code for being super hot while maybe staring broodingly into the forest or something and no longer murdering everyone who came onto his property. Though in theory he supposed Derek could manage both. Possibly while eating one of the delicious sandwiches Stiles made him.

"And uh, sorry I didn't have a container big enough, but I don't know how much you typically eat, so I just made, you know, a lot - it's borscht, beef and beet borscht. It's my mom's recipe. I think you'll like it. I mean I like it. Obviously I like it or I wouldn't have made - anyway, there's some sour cream here, too, and the extra dill and parsley for you to put on top. If you heat up a cereal bowl full for a few minutes in the microwave just put some of that on top after. Or don't. Whatever floats your boat." Stiles really, really needs to stop talking.

He was starting to suspect Derek only had two facial expressions: vaguely pissed and kind of impatient. Derek definitely looked impatient as he held open the fridge door for him. There was definitely plenty of room inside. It looked like Derek subsisted entirely on protein shakes and apples.

"So, uh, this is a nice place you have here," Stiles says, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

"I can pay you now." Derek pulls a beaten up wallet out of his back jeans pocket and thumbs through for his credit card while, flustered, Stiles fumbles for his phone and Square attachment since apparently Derek Hale doesn't believe in carrying cash.

"Right, thanks, that's - it'll email you a receipt in a minute. Do you - that is - uh, just... call me or email me or whatever if you want more next week. I'll just.. see myself out." Never in his life has Stiles made such awkward conversation, except maybe that first week of studying with Lydia before he realized it really was never going to happen.

Once he's outside he presses his forehead to the driver's side window, eyes closed for just a minute, breathing. When he opens them, Derek is standing on his ridiculous front steps, still barefoot even though it's November, giving him the old hairy eyeball.

Stiles gulps and scrambles into the driver's seat. "Bye! Thanks for your business!" The drive home feels fast and easy, and Stiles even fills up the tank now that he's gotten paid.

It's two hours later when he's taking a well deserved break from his readings to play some Assassin's Creed that he realizes he just left some of his mom's old tupperware in Derek's twilight zone fridge and he might never see it again. And Stiles would pass up all the money in the world to keep the few things of his mother's that he still has left.