Title: Hey, Do You…?

Fandom: Shipping

Genre: Romance

Pairing: Desterekiel.  Stestiel.  Desterek.

Summary: Destiel meets Sterek in the polling room during the final round of the AE poll.  The rest, as they say, is history.

…

Part 1:

…

It’s the stupid poll.  The stupid poll and the stupid fans.

Destiel tries to ignore his fans, for the most part.  He gets that he oughtta be grateful, yeah, but there are more important things in his life.  Like Purgatory almost literally tearing him in half over the summer just after he finally got fucking over the Leviathan thing.

So Des sits in the polling room where he’s supposed to be.  He should be out doing things – should be getting ready for Season Eight, since it’s literally next week.  The fans are already going crazy, if Tumblr’s any indication – and Tumblr’s always an indication.  He’s gotta be ready.  Especially given he has no idea what Carver’s got planned for him this year.

More than that, he should be out enjoying his last few technical days off before the heavy destruction hits.

Instead he’s here.

And some of it was all right.  Some of his opponents didn’t last very long, and they’d known it going in.  K.S. had given him a pat on the back in that weird, grandfatherly way of his, saying he had potential to go all the way, and pretty much giving his blessing.

Things with Johnlock had been more than a little strained, considering Johnlock tried to psychoanalyze him while they waited, and Des hates that.  He gets enough of it from the fans.  He doesn’t need some British asshole in a scarf and the ugliest beige sweater he’s ever seen telling him his whole life story based on a leather jacket and a blue necktie hanging out of his pocket.  Like hell he needs that.

But eventually, the Destiel fans ousted Johnlock, too, and he was faced – is faced – with the biggest competition of all: Sterek.

He hasn’t heard much about Sterek.  The kid’s new on the scene, since his show’s only two seasons old, but his fans are an absolute powerhouse.  Especially considering the fact that things seem to be veering toward Sterek being made canon.

Des knows better than to underestimate him.

He’s a little underwhelmed when this kid rolls in.  He moves gracefully, but he’s got these giant puppy eyes that really rival Sabriel’s (and Jesus, Sabriel has some eyes on him), and he looks nervous, almost skittish.

“I…I don’t really want to be here,” he mumbles, smiling sheepishly.

“Join the club, kid,” Des replies, gesturing to the chair Johnlock vacated.

Sterek gives it an experimental sniff.  Des tenses.  Everything in his blood says danger, monster, wolf.  This isn’t going to be good, isn’t going to be pretty.

“Who was your last opponent?” Sterek asks, noticing the way Des tenses and tensing a little himself.

“Johnlock.”

The cold curtness in Des’s voice doesn’t seem to really put the kid off, even though it should.  “I don’t really like how he smells.  I think he might have been afraid of you.”

“Afraid?” Des asks.  He can’t help it.  There’s something focused in this kid, and it’s like a beam of gravity, pulling him in too.  He can only hope – though he’s not sure why he feels the need to – that he’s not going to get spaghettified back down into stardust by that well of gravity.

Sterek nods, sitting down gingerly.  “You’ve got a reputation.”

“So do you.”

Sterek flushes.  He looks down and doesn’t say anything, going still, a bit like a predator at rest.

Des clasps his hands over his chest loosely and tilts his chair back to lean it against the wall.  “They say you’re gonna win.”

“Is that a concession of defeat, already?”  Sterek raises an eyebrow, challenge in his eyes.

“Bite me.”  Des isn’t sure what it is about this kid, about the way he’s sitting there, clearly uncomfortable but pushing through it, layering it down underneath bravado and challenge.

If anybody knows about layers, it’s Destiel.

Sterek’s eyes have sharpened, though, shaded a little red.  “Is that a request?”

“Figure of speech.”

Sometimes Destiel doesn’t get figures of speech, but he likes that one.  He knows that that one means a challenge of his own.

“I figured,” Sterek says, eyes going back to honey-brown.

Silence falls for a long time as they sit there.

Eventually, it’s nightfall, and they’re allowed to return to their respective homes for the night, even though the voting is supposed to go on twenty-four-seven.

“See you,” Des mutters, but Sterek catches his elbow.

“Do you find me attractive?” he asks.

Des takes his elbow back.  “You might actually be the weirdest ‘ship I have ever met.”  He doesn’t even bother to give Sterek a once-over, but just turns and walks away.

After all, he knows even more about hedging than he does about layers.

—end—