Archive of Our Own ^beta

Derek throws another batch of dough onto the counter, sending up a flurry of flour into the air as he starts to knead it. This will be a chocolate braid, he thinks as he works the soft surface, feeling the give. It’ll be a good way to use up that batch of ganache he whipped up earlier, but he’s not feeling truffles anymore. It has zero to do with the fact that a certain someone may have moaned about his desire for sugary carbs when he walked in this morning, not at all.

“Mmm, yeah, work that bread,” calls a voice from the corner.

Derek looks up and sees Stiles in his corner as usual, laptop open, a half-empty cup of coffee from the Starbucks down the street sitting in front of him, and crumbs from his morning pastry on his plate. He has sugar crystals dusted on his lip, Derek notices, and promptly looks back down at his work surface before he starts blushing or something.

“And how many words do you have now?” Derek asks lightly, as Stiles leans back in his chair.

“Three thousand, five hundred and eighty four,” Stiles says, grinning at him.

“That’s only about a hundred more than you had an hour ago, when I was making the brioche,” Derek says, shaking his head.

“Hey!” Stiles scowls. “Those were a beautiful hundred words.”

The novelist is the only one in Derek’s bakery at the moment-- it’s the lull after the morning rush and before people start trickling in around lunchtime.

“Mmhm,” Derek says, dipping a brush into the chocolate and painting thick stripes down the dough, then starts carefully separating the dough into segments, braiding the pieces together. It isn’t until he finishes when he realizes Stiles has gotten up from his seat and is now avidly watching him from behind the counter.

“Wow,” Stiles says, glancing at the finished braid. Derek brushes a quick gloss of egg white to finish it off, and then turns around to open the oven door.

The heavenly smell of the caramel-almond braid wafts into the bakery, Stiles exhales in anticipation as Derek finishes taking out the finished one and sets the new one to bake. Derek feels a warm surge of pride as he watches Stiles’ eyes dilate.

Stiles eyes the caramel-almond braid with intent, watching it cool.

“Don’t say it,” Derek says.

“Please,” Stiles counters, and he pouts a little.

“It’s hot,” Derek protests, even though he knows it doesn’t matter. Stiles is already bouncing excitedly, bright eyes looking up at him, and Derek can’t say no.

Derek rips off a chunk of the caramel-almond braid and Stiles opens his mouth automatically. Derek blows on it, because he knows Stiles will forget, and gently places it on Stiles’ tongue. Watching Stiles close his eyes, his lips just grazing Derek’s fingers, that groan of ecstasy-- it’s all worth it. Derek is gonna have to chop up the finished bread piece and offer it up as samples now instead of selling it whole, but … yeah. It’s fine. This only happens about once every few days.

Stiles had walked in to Derek’s life one rainy day, dripping wet all over his floor and stared openly at Derek pulling out a fresh batch of lava cakes, and said to Derek, “Please just put it in my mouth.”

It had taken Derek a few seconds of looking away from Stiles’ pink lips to actually ring him up and give him the cake, and then some discreet adjusting of his apron to disguise the effect Stiles’ very vocal enjoyment of the cake had on him.

Stiles came back the next day with his laptop, wrote on and off for a few hours. When he wasn’t talking to Derek, throwing his arms up excitedly, words flying out of his mouth a mile a minute, he was buying every pastry and trying every cake. Since then, Stiles has been a regular staple in Derek’s life -- apparently he can only get work done at the bakery, despite (or maybe because of) its lack of wifi and coffee (which Stiles buys for himself and Derek, anyways). For the last three months, Stiles has been splurging on Derek’s croissants and cakes and danishes and cookies, trying each and every batch, offering Derek colorful commentary as Derek bakes, and generally keeping him company.

Derek regrets not asking him out when he first started coming to bakery-- now Stiles is a regular, and it’d be weird. They’re friends now. Besides, the over-the-top moaning and the innuendo constantly coming from him, that’s not really flirting, that’s like, something you do with your friends because there’s no way they’d take you seriously.

Stiles licks his lips, sighing happily. Derek plates a good chunk of the bread and hands it to him, waving back at Stiles’ table in the corner. “Go finish your chapter,” Derek says.

“You’re the best,” Stiles says gratefully.

Derek tries not to watch his butt as he goes back to his table.

Today’s a good bread day; Derek finishes a few more braided rolls while listening to the tap tap tap of Stiles’ keyboard. He cleans up a little, helps a few customers that trickle in. The bakery isn’t a busy place; most of the goods go to restaurants in the area that order Derek’s specialties, or to private clients who order the cakes ahead of time. Derek doesn’t bother advertising the store front; Laura’s always telling him he could double his profits if he moved to a better location, hired a few employees and people would be lining up out the door everyday.

Derek doesn’t want that. He’s happy where he is; most of his money comes from the elaborate wedding cakes that give him the luxury of baking whatever else he wants.

Speaking of weddings, there’s a couple scheduled to come in today for a tasting. Derek’s glad he remembered on time, otherwise he would have gotten distracted baking more things and getting Stiles to sample them. Derek starts wiping down the counters and then changes into a clean apron, and heads into the back room to pull out the cake samples from the fridge.

“Oooh, what’s all this?” Stiles says, eyes lighting up when he sees Derek with the tray.

“Focus on your work,” Derek says. “You said your goal was five thousand words today, right? I’ve got a piece of cake with your name on it if you finish.”

Stiles cracks his knuckles and gives Derek a jaunty salute. “You got it,” he says, and goes back to typing.

Derek drapes a tablecloth over the back table in preparation for the tasting session, and writes in his best handwriting, Welcome Rosalie and Devon. Derek’s actually been emailing back and forth with Rosalie for a month or so, she’s been really nice about offering ideas for cake designs and working with Derek on a custom cake topper. She even commented on one of the custom cakes Derek had on his website-- the one he made for Bisexuality Visibility Day. She’d asked if Derek was bi, and yes, he was, and then she’d asked if he knew of any resources for her little brother, who recently came out. Derek liked Rosalie well enough, she was a friend of Laura’s, so he was happy to give the guy any advice he could.

Rosalie is just as bright and bubbly as she is in her emails, and she and Devon arrive in the bakery, oohing and aahing at the current displays. They’ve brought a few other people with them, both sets of parents, the best man, two bridesmaids. Derek introduces himself and starts them out with the vanilla variations, listening to their thoughts.

“This is amazing,” the best man-- a Jacob? Josh? something says, smiling at Derek.

“Thanks,” Derek says. “I only use the freshest ingredients, and I make all the frosting myself.”

“Mmm, and it is delicious,” the guy says, dabbing his finger into a fresh slice of cake and licking the frosting off his finger.

Rosalie giggles, elbowing him. “Jake,” she says, admonishing him.

“What? Your baker’s hot and nice,” Jake says, winking at Derek. Oh, Jake, Rosalie’s younger brother. Oh no. Is this a … crush?

“I, ah... here are the chocolate options,” Derek says, trying not to reveal his uncomfortableness, nudging the plates of samples towards them.

Jake keeps trying to make eye contact with Derek, and Derek’s trying his best to be vague and polite. Derek can’t afford to lose this contract by doing what he normally does with unwanted attention-- which is to be rude and brush them off-- so he just kind of awkwardly ignores it.

Which only seems to encourage Jake.

Derek grits his teeth and keeps bringing out more samples, concentrating on getting through this cake tasting, reminding himself that it’s about to get into slow season for weddings and he’d have to do something drastic, like move the store, if he doesn’t book this couple.

Finally Rosalie and Devon agree on the lemon pound cake with the vanilla bean buttercream frosting, and Derek endures some awkward flirting from Jake while he hands over the final version of the contract for them to sign.

“I don’t have a date yet for the wedding,” Jake blurts out. “And we’d invite you anyways, since you’re doing the cake, but would you like to--”

“I have a boyfriend,” Derek says quickly. His eyes automatically drift to Stiles, still typing away in his corner. Stiles looks up, as if on cue, and smiles warmly at Derek, holding up his pastry and mouthing, “I LOVE THIS,” at Derek.

“Oh my God,” Rosalie says, smacking Jake on the arm. “I can’t believe you were flirting with Derek this whole time! In front of his boyfriend, no less,” she whispers fiercely.

Jake looks extremely embarrassed. “I’m really sorry, wow, you were just being professional and courteous, and you were just so nice in your emails and then I met you and you were hot and I hit on you at your work, I just--”

“It’s fine,” Derek says, looking in relief when Devon finishes signing off on the contract with a flourish. They push the paperwork across the table along with a check for the deposit, and Derek stands up to shake everyone’s hands. “Thank you so much, congratulations again, looking forward to making this for you.”

Derek walks them to the door, and Stiles chooses that moment to stand up from his seat and stretch. He grins at the couple and the group warmly, waggles his eyebrows at everyone and “How’s the cake? Was it difficult choosing just one, because I know Derek makes only the best,” he says proudly.

“What a charming young man,” Rosalie’s mother says, and she actually leans forward and pinches Stiles’ cheek, making him blush.

And then there are introductions, and Stiles doesn’t even seem confused, just goes along with it, shaking everyone’s hands warmly and even goes and grabs the plate of the sample caramel-almond braid and offers it to everyone.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Stiles,” Rosalie says warmly. “Derek, your boyfriend is so cute, I hope to see you both at the wedding.”

“Oh my gosh!” Stiles exclaims, his mouth falling open, and he gives Derek a delighted look. “Thank you so much for the invite! See you there!” he says excitedly.

Derek is just grateful Stiles is playing along and finally everyone is out the door, and the bakery is empty except the two of them again. Stiles grins broadly at Derek, tilting his head curiously. “So. Boyfriend. That’s new,” he says, stepping closer.

“I--”

“I always figured we were taking it slow, you know, but you have no idea how happy I am to hear you finally acknowledge it, I mean I kept running it over in my head, are we together? Are we not together? I bring you coffee all the time, you feed me all the time, we flirt constantly, and sure, moving at a glacial pace on the kissing front, but I totally accept that--”

Derek just stares at him, trying to process the information that Stiles likes him. He wants to date him, he totally thinks Derek calling him his boyfriend is an amazing thing--

“...and from the look on your face I’m guessing you weren’t serious,” Stiles says, face falling. “Let me guess, you told them I was your boyfriend to get that guy making the googly eyes at you to stop.”

“No,” Derek says, finding his voice. “I, um, I said I was dating someone. And they assumed it was you, because I was looking at you. And because I want to. Date you, that is. I just thought I missed the chance and then we were friends and you kept doing this flirty thing that I thought was joking…”

Stiles blinks. “I practically fellated your finger that one time you fed me that tiramisu, Derek!”

Derek turns bright red. “You’re very enthusiastic about your food,” he mumbles.

Stiles jumps forward, flinging his arms around Derek and surprising him with a hot, furious kiss. Derek barely manages to catch him as Stiles wraps his legs around his waist. The kiss is a whirlwind and every bit as amazing as Derek thought it would be.

“Oh my God, you can totally pick me up,” Stiles says appreciatively when they finally break apart for air.

“Yeah,” Derek says, a little dazed.

“I knew your competent baker’s arms were strong,” Stiles says when Derek sets him down and pats Derek’s forearms. He then winks at Derek and flips the sign hanging from the door to Closed.

Stiles steps toward Derek again, grabbing him by the apron and tugging him closer.

“Did you finish your chapter?” Derek asks when Stiles leans in for another kiss.

Stiles shrugs. “I can do that tomorrow.”

“I’m a good boyfriend and I am supportive of your career,” Derek says with a small smile. “I have a few more things to do before I can close up shop, and then we can go get dinner or something.”

“Derek, I’ve been waiting months to finally be able to--”

Derek kisses him, soft and slow, and Stiles sighs into the kiss, and then Derek pulls back, and holds Stiles firmly by the shoulders. “We have plenty of time. You, on the other hand, have been complaining for a week about how stressed you were for this manuscript deadline. Work.”

Stiles plops down into his chair and starts typing furiously, and Derek smiles, proud of himself. And of Stiles, too.

Derek heads into the backroom so he can start the day’s inventory, and he can still hear Stiles typing away.

Derek almost drops his clipboard when Stiles yells out,  “IF I FINISH MY NOVEL TONIGHT ARE WE GONNA BANG, IS THAT WHAT YOU’RE SAYING, DEREK?"