smtree asked: Derek/stiles as rival nhl players?

I know LITERALLY NOTHING about pro sports (though I think the Kings just won something? LA! LA! LA!) so here, have a Mighty Ducks AU:

Things are only just starting to fall into place for them, in terms of actually functioning and feeling like a team. Isaac has learned to stay up on his skates and his sister Lydia has stopped doing pirouettes instead of chasing the puck; Boyd and Erica are harnessing their bruiser power into actual tactical plays instead of just running into whoever’s in their way. Greenberg still sucks at being goalie but Coach Deaton has shared three whole personal details about himself. Stiles thinks they might have a shot at— well, winning one game, that’s kind of the goal, at this point, but at least they have a goal. Things are definitely looking up.

That’s until Deaton arrives on the ice at the start of Thursday’s practice with a stupid, sullen, stupidly hot rich boy in tow. He’s all cheekbones and icy eyes and long dumb eyelashes and jesus, just jesus, nothing about this is fair. (The only upside is that even in practice pads no one will ever be able to tell what the dude is doing to Stiles’ dick.)

His name is Derek Hale and until they redistricted last year he was a Wolf. His older brothers were Wolves; his sister Laura played goalie with such vicious tenacity that people were apparently afraid to even try to shoot on her. Their coach, Finstock, is legendarily crazy; the first time the Wolves played the Ducks Stiles swears he saw him foam at the mouth.

Derek doesn’t want to be there any more than anyone wants him there, so of course he adds insult to injury by skating perfectly, silently demonstrating what a ragtag bunch of fuckups and tryhards they all are. His icy facade doesn’t so much as crack. Stiles does his best to ignore him (though that rule doesn’t extend to his Private Time, where Derek is in, um, heavy rotation); he starts finding his own time to practice, hoping he’ll manage to show Derek up once, just once, before the season’s end.

It’s on one of these long, lonely afternoons that things start to change. He sees Derek watching him from the stands, just sitting there. Stiles tries to ignore him, he really does, but it’s his time, his own time that he makes for himself, when he doesn’t have to worry about how lonely his dad is and the way he looks at Deaton, about Scott’s grades or Isaac’s fraying skate laces or anything but his technique, about getting fucking better.

“Are you gonna stare all night or are you gonna get down here and help?” he finally calls out, running one hand over the top of his sweaty buzz cut. 

“I wanted to see your dick,” Derek answers, and Stiles flushes white and then red, frozen to the spot thinking what, what, WHAT.

“What,” he says, because that is literally the only word he knows anymore. 

“Your deke,” Derek says. “Deaton won’t shut up about your stupid triple deke. He says it’s magical. I want to see you how you do it.” 

“Get down here,” Stiles answers, heart stuttering back to life, a dull roar thundering in time with his pulse and blocking out any other sound. “And I’ll show you what I can do.”

  1. agentotter said: YOU ARE MADE OUT OF EVERYTHING WONDERFUL.
  2. ladyofthelog said: I loled irl
  3. scoutsxhonor posted this