Work Text:
"…and then you told him that he was your sun and your stars and your moon and that it was really, really dark when he wasn't there," Scott said gleefully. "And to drive the point home, you played a high-on-painkillers version of peek-a-boo where you dramatically put your hands over your eyes and started bawling because it was so dark, Mr. Hot Nurse, please come back and make it light. Then you pulled your hands off and blinked like you were seeing for the first time and said wow in this totally awed voice. Look at all this light."
Stiles groaned and tugged his pillow out from under his head to bury his face in it. When Scott kept laughing, Stiles reconsidered and used the pillow to smack him.
"Please tell me that's the worst I did," Stiles moaned. "Please."
Scott coughed. "Well."
"Oh, no."
"You grabbed his chin, stared into his eyes for a moment and then told everyone they were an inspiration. You used about twenty words to describe them, one worse than the next. I think you called the color a mix between a stormy winter day and a half-eaten mint candy. And then you started spouting poetry inspired by his eyes."
Stiles let himself fall back on the bed with a sigh. "Was it at least good poetry?"
"The only bit I remember is your eyes are your eyes, and they're nice eyes; they shine like the moon, but only if you don't blink, wait, don't blink. Stop blinking damnit!"
"You're making this up."
Scott snorted. "You wish I was."
"Damn right," Stiles agreed. "So, what else? Unless that was the worst?"
Scott shook his head. "They were wrapping up your leg and you nudged the guy with your good foot and told him he'd have to help you learn how to walk again."
"Oh, great."
Scott nodded. "The nurse said you wouldn't have to relearn how to walk and you pouted at him for like ten minutes. You pushed your bottom lip out so far – it looked grotesque, man!"
"I'm confiscating your word-of-the-day calendar. You're never allowed to call me grotesque again."
"That's not even the worst thing you did."
"Oh my god, there is more?!"
Scott bit his lip. "Remember when I said they were wrapping up your leg? Well, Mr. Hot Nurse--"
"Jeez, Scotty, don't call him that," Stiles interrupted him. "It's bad enough I did it when I was high, but if you do it, then I start doing it while I'm sober and regretting every milligram of that painkiller, so let's just not."
"Right." Scott rolled his eyes. "Anyway, the guy was crouching between your legs to wrap the wound because you refused to lie down on the stretcher. I think at some point while you were pouting you realized you had a hot guy between your legs and you--"
"Oh, no, no, no. Tell me I did not make racy jokes and/or proposition the guy."
Scott shrugged.
"Oh my god, this is so embarrassing."
"Could be worse."
"How could this possibly be worse?!"
"Mr. Hot Nurse could have been an ass about it despite the fact that you were clearly stoned out of your mind on painkillers and likely wouldn't remember much about it anyway."
"He wasn't?"
Scott shook his head. "He--"
"--thought you were kind of cute, actually," someone said from the doorway.
Stiles looked up to find Mr. Hot Nurse leaning against the doorjamb. He was wearing tight jeans and a black leather jacket over a blue shirt. Stiles felt his IQ drop a few points due to excessive internal drooling. Stiles blinked as the words finally penetrated his skull. "Wait, you did?"
Mr. Hot Nurse smiled and Stiles prayed that his body was too wrecked to grow an impromptu erection because Mr. Hot Nurse certainly deserved his nickname.
"It's not every day that someone starts serenading me with The Best of Celine Dion in the ER."
Stiles groaned and punched Scott in the shoulder. The angle was off so the blow was weaker than it should have been. "You traitor!" he pressed out between his teeth. "Next time, start with the bit where I started singing. In public!"
Scott rubbed his shoulder. "Fine. I can see when I'm not wanted. Call me when they spring you and I'll give you a lift. And no calling the station for cold cases. You're supposed to rest."
Scott and Mr. Hot Nurse exchanged nods and then Stiles was alone with the guy of his dreams (seriously, Mr. Hot Nurse was so exactly his type, only way hotter than Stiles could have imagined) in front of whom he made a fool of himself the night before. In hindsight, maybe it was a blessing that he couldn't exactly remember much of it.
"I take it the good stuff's worn off by now?"
Stiles nodded. "As evidenced by the lack of singing and my more, uh, coordinated flailing."
Mr. Hot Nurse grinned. "I have to admit, as cute as the singing was, you don't really have the voice for it."
"I know." Stiles sighed dramatically. "Destroyed my seven-year-old heart, figuring out I'd never be a famous rock star."
"You became a cop," Mr. Hot Nurse pointed out. "That's a dream job for a lot of kids."
"Second choice," Stiles said. "Since rock star was out. Plus, my dad's a sheriff, so…"
"Well, I don't think you'll need walking lessons when your leg is healed, but if you want to go for coffee once you're back on your feet…"
"Despite the singing and the… other stuff?"
Mr. Hot Nurse nodded. "Like I said... Kinda cute."
Stiles grinned. "Then yes, I'd love to get coffee."
"Great." Mr. Hot Nurse winked at him. "I'm off now, so I guess I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah, see you tomorrow," Stiles echoed. "No, wait!"
Mr. Hot Nurse turned back, eyebrows raised.
"What's your name? I mean, I'm sure you told me last night, but I was busy composing sonnets about your eyes or something and I can't keep calling you Mr. Hot Nurse."
"Mr. Hot Nurse?"
Stiles felt himself blush.
Mr. Hot Nurse laughed. "My name is Derek."
"Okay. Goodbye, Derek."
Derek grinned and left with a wave.
Stiles spent the rest of the night willing his leg to heal faster.