Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“HO, HO, HO, guess who made it back to Beacon Hills in time for Christmas? Where are all my beautiful Motherfu...”

“STILES!” Scott yelps, voice so alarmed and high it has the desired effect and brings one Stiles Stilinski to an abrupt halt, just inside the pea green, Christmas wreath clad front door of the McCall-Tate residence.

“Motherfudgers at?” Stiles finishes weakly, voice trailing off as he bumps his Spongebob design, wheeled cabin case over the door frame, squeezing the rest of his bag laden arms through and only just looking around and taking in his audience.

“Here I was, stupidly thinking that experienced FBI agents were meant to be more aware of their surroundings,” Scott scowls. “Silly me.”

Stiles looks forebodingly downwards, gaze finally coming to meet a pair of innocent, large, hazel eyes set in a small face that’s currently shyly tucked into Scott’s side.

Oops.

“Daddy, what’s a Motherfudger?” Four year old Ali asks a growingly harassed looking Scott, tugging on her dad’s belt loop.

Stiles withers under Ali’s curious gaze as he tries to melt into the floor in shame and he just might succeed with the furious, burning glare that Scott’s now giving him.

“Why don’t you ask your Uncle Stiles baby? I’m sure he’ll be happy to tell you what it means, considering he was the one to introduce you to it,” Scott folds his arms over his chest and he gives Stiles his harshest get out of this one, smartass look.

Stiles has unfortunately seen that look a lot in the twenty seven years that he’s been best friends with Scott. Well, twenty four years if you are counting from the first time they met in the sandbox, but he is definately counting from birth because they were totally born in the same hospital wing, so it counts.

His mom, god rest her soul, also knew Melissa through mutual friends before Scott and Stiles were even born. Scott and Stiles were meant to be and that’s the last he will hear on the matter.

Stiles dumps the bags he’d come barrelling through the door with onto the floor, lets his luggage tip to the side and he scoops Ali up into his arms so that he can get a better look at her.

“It’s nearly nine o’clock at night on Christmas Eve, shouldn’t you be in bed by now kiddo? You and your impressionable, furry little ears, tucked in and safely away from any unsuspecting, idiotic, sweary adults? Really, this is all your dad’s fault, for his non existent bedtime routine. You’ve gotten so heavyyyyy since the last time I saw you!” Stiles pretend complains and he lifts Ali high up above his head, making her laugh at him.

“Uncle Stiles, what’s a Motherfudger? I’ve never heard that word before and Mrs. Thermopolis at school says to always ask an adult if we aren’t sure what a word means,” Ali asks him again sweetly, clearly determined not to be deterred or distracted, despite Stiles’ weak attempts.

Stiles pretends to drop her and she shrieks delightedly.

“Well I’m no adult, so you’re all out of luck! Look Ali pops... presents! Want to shake them all and guess what they are?” Stiles makes a last ditch effort to divert her train of thought and he puts her down on her feet, gesturing desperately at his bags and a large hessian sack which is now spilling out brightly wrapped parcels onto the doormat.

Ali looks at the present sack and then back at him. Then she looks back at the sack. Then back at him again.

Her dark little eyebrows draw down so fast into an unhappy frown that Stiles actually takes a step back. The family resemblance is strong in this one.

Damned Hales and their dominant eyebrow genes. Ali is Scott and Malia’s kid, so she’s technically Derek’s second cousin but she could easily be Derek’s child with how much she resembles the Alpha Werewolf.

Stiles has long suspected that the likeness irritated his best friend so much so, that it was the main reason that Scott had convinced Malia to try for another kid, just as soon as Ali was two.

“No thank you.” Ali says politely, but firmly. “Daddy said you had to tell me about that word please.”

Scott’s smug face is starting to piss Stiles off.

“It’s just... a silly word for a silly person... that’s all it is sweet pea. If someone’s being silly then Uncle Stiles calls them that. Don’t worry about it, it’s a grown-up word,” Stiles tries and Ali glares at him even harder.

He’s fooling no one.

Malia turns out to be the one that saves his bacon as she slowly walks into the hallway, as if summoned by Stiles’ increasing desperation.

A chubby, toothy, dribbling toddler that looks exactly like if you extreme de-aged Peter Hale is being dragged behind her on his belly, gnawing on her leg.

Scott didn’t bother asking Malia to try for a third kid. Scott had said with the way it was going, the next one would probably come out looking like Stiles.

“I thought that was you I heard,” Malia nods at Stiles in greeting, then about turns, heading back for the kitchen. “Scott can you keep Henry out from under our feet for a minute? Liam’s burnt the potatoes and we’ve got so much to do to get ready for tomorrow.”

“I did not! You didn’t put any water in the pot,” Liam hollers from the kitchen.

Stiles grins and he feels all the warm and fuzzy feels in his tummy being back with his friends. Shit, he’s really missed them all, it’s been almost four months since he’s seen any of them this time, since the summer.

A gentle tug on his pants leg finds him looking down at little Henry, who’s currently eyeing Stiles’ ankle like it’s a tasty chicken drumstick, goopy drool hanging from his generous chops.

Stiles gathers him up.

“We talked about this last time I saw you kiddo, Uncle Stiles is not for eating,” Stiles blows a raspberry at him.

“Bah!” Henry yells and then he gives Stiles a generous headbutt in what appears to be a greeting.

“Ow! Scott, this kid is feral,” Stiles holds Henry out in front of him so he can’t nut him again and with a bit of wrangling he resettles the kid on his hip, rubbing his forehead with his other hand.

“Henry, you need to be gentle. Remember Uncle Stiles is different, he’s not as tough as us...” Scott explains patiently, leaning in and kissing his son on top of the head.

“Hey! I’m tougher than you Scotty boy, werewolf or not! Need I remind you that you cry every time we watch The Lion King? Every. Single. Time.” Stiles frowns.

“Crying doesn’t make me any less manly than you,” Scott shrugs, unapologetically. “Besides, dude, that film is traumatising. Mufasa man... My guy. Scar did him dirty.”

Henry has the good grace to peer up at Stiles with a somewhat apologetic look on his little face.

“Bah!” Henry says remorsefully and he gives Stiles a huge wet, slobbery kiss on the shoulder in apology. Truthfully, it’s more like a tiny forceful headbutt, just using his open, baby mouth this time instead of his baby forehead.

“Aww that’s nice kid. Ok, I forgive you,” Stiles grins at him and tickles his neck until Henry squirms happily.

Stiles hears the front door click open behind him and a gust of cold air hits the back of his neck.

“Mal, Liam’s cursing you out something chronic, I could hear him through the open window from all the way down the.... Stiles?” Derek stops dead in the hallway, the front door snicking shut softly behind him.

“Ho Der. I mean hey Der. Hi. Derek. Hello there,” Stiles readjusts Henry on his hip, mostly trying to distract himself from the general mess of awkwardness that he seems to become in Derek Hale’s presence.

“You said you couldn’t get back.” Derek says flatly, outright accusing him.

“Alright, call your eyebrows off Hale, what are you, the travel police? I didn’t want to tell anyone there was a possibility I’d make it back just in case I didn’t close the case I’d been working on. You would have all been absolutely devastated, it would totally have ruined the holidays for everyone, don’t front,” Stiles bristles. “You of all people should know Derek, crime waits for no man.”

As usual, Derek brings out an immediate and inexplicable need in him to argue with every single thing the guy says.

“Huh.” Derek says informatively and he makes an abortive jerk forward toward where Stiles is standing, then instead just lingers in the doorway; one of Derek’s hands is curling and uncurling where it’s gripping a large, bulging gift bag, the other clutching at bottle of wine so tightly that Stiles is worried that the glass neck might just crush under Derek’s strong fingers.

Derek stares him out, apparently relying on Stiles to fill the silence. Stiles sighs. Some things never change.

“Look, you know what work has been like lately, I complain about it enough when I call you all. I just thought I wouldn’t jinx it by saying I was definitely coming and looky, my plan worked. I made it. Clearly. Here I stand. I stand here. Here be me,” Stiles waves his free hand at him, then runs it nervously through his lengthier than usual hair, while trying to regain his footing.

He also tries to keep his eyes locked on Derek’s face, instead of looking over the guy like he really wants to. It’s quite hard. His eyeballs have minds of their own, the roaming bastards. It’s not really his fault. Derek looks damned good.

The years haven’t just been kind to Derek, they’ve been downright generous. If Derek was hot at twenty when Stiles first met him, now at thirty, he’s stifling.

Stiles allows himself a quick scan over him anyway, just because he’s a Kinesics specialist as part of his work as an agent, not because he wants to or anything. It’s his job. He has to. Or so he keeps telling himself.

Derek, Derek, Derek, Stiles thinks. Still got the firm body, still got the strong looking thighs. Still has a love of too tight Levi’s. He’s got a hint of dark chest hair peeking up at the collar of a dark navy Henley. Chest hair is newish, Stiles notes. Derek used to be a baldy nair-wolf in the chest region. Stiles prefers the hair. Not that he will be telling Derek that. Or it’s not like Derek would be asking him. But if he did... go hair!

Stiles gets momentarily distracted, because he's always liked navy on Derek; it’s because it compliments his eyes and hair, which is still black as night. Stiles finally looks him in the eyes to prove his theory. Same demanding, eclectic mix of grey, green, hazel as always.

Stiles felt like he was being subtle in his perceptions, but alas.

“You done?” Derek asks gruffly, but he doesn’t look too unhappy at being under scrutiny.

He’s definitely not at his ‘ripping throat out with his teeth’ stage of grumpy, or his ‘banging heads into steering wheels’ sort of cranky yet anyway.

"Sorry," Stiles offers, but he's kind of not. “I think I just saw some grey bits in your stubble was all.”

"Huh. You can talk. I’m pretty sure that you have a few more wrinkles around your eyes since I last saw you,” Derek fires back.

Stiles grins. Now this, this he can do.

"Don't lie, I look awesome. I know it, you know it,” Stiles pokes his tongue out. “I’m in my prime.”

“Yeah ok. If you say so,” Derek huffs, but Stiles notices a twinge of a smile beginning on Derek’s usually stoic, stubbly face.

Stiles grins at Derek. Derek smiles a little wider. Stiles ducks his head, cheeks a little warm.

“I’m uncomfortable,” Scott declares and Ali giggles. A loud crash from the direction of the kitchen saves them all.

Derek looks past Stiles, startling, as if noticing the others for the first time.

“Bah!” Henry says loudly and he starts wriggling in Stiles’ grip, reaching out for Derek. “Bah Deh!”

Derek puts down his bag, adding it to the mess Stiles has made by the door but he keeps hold of his fancy looking bottle of wine.

Scott takes Henry out of Stiles’ arms instead, much to the kid’s chagrin and by the time Stiles turns back around, he’s suddenly got two arms full of Derek.

Derek hugs him rather forcefully, and Stiles is using that word because he ends up letting out a loud oof when Derek basically drapes his body weight onto him, dropping his head onto Stiles’ shoulder and wrapping one thick arm around his waist.

Stiles knows it’s all about greetings, scenting and pack and all that jazz, he hasn’t seen the guy for a while, but he still feels a familiar, ridiculous heat run through him whenever Derek gets all up in his business like this.

He lets Derek take a few liberties when he rubs a stubbled cheek against Stiles’, chest rumbling low in greeting.

Stiles feels another draft as the front door opens again and he makes to step back, but Derek seems reluctant to let him go.

“Oh excuse me. Wrong house. I seem to stumbled into a live showing of a Christmas hallmark movie,” Sheriff Stilinski announces loudly. “I only wanted some sandwiches and egg nog after a hard day at work. My poor eyes, I don’t need to see my son smooching anyone, let alone one of my deputies.”

Derek lets Stiles go like he’s suddenly developed the plague and he all but leaps out of Stiles’ space, eyes down and he scratches at the back of his neck sheepishly.

Derek’s cheeks are a little rosy, Stiles is pleased to note. Red. His second favourite colour on Derek.

“Oh zip it Pops, you know you missed me just as much, you’re just jealous,” Stiles recovers more quickly than Derek, so he steps around him and gathers his dad in a hug. “Get in here.”

In his obvious haste to create some space between himself and Stiles for the Sheriff’s benefit, Derek, clearly a little flustered, trips over Stiles’ present sack and he drops the bottle of wine he was holding.

Stiles watches in horror as it bounces off the floor just once and then it smashes, bright red liquid arching up the white hallway walls.

It’s truly horrific. Stiles has seen crime scenes with less splatter, it’s actually fairly impressive.

Derek just stands there, palm and mouth both hanging open, as if he can’t quite comprehend what he’s done.

Scott’s the first to laugh, then they’re all joining in, John Stilinski moving the presents to safety as Scott ushers the kids out of the way.

“Ali, baby, go and get Uncle Derek some napkins off Mommy please,” Scott cups the back of his daughter’s head, Henry still safe in his arms.

Ali looks back at them all and she makes eye contact with Stiles, and somehow, he just knows that whatever she’s going to say next will be nothing good.

“Oh, Uncle Derek, you’re such a silly Motherfudger,” Ali sighs dramatically and she flounces off, dark pony tail swinging as she makes her way down the hallway.

Derek gapes after her and then he turns his narrowed eyes on Stiles, following the accusatory finger that Scott is jabbing his way.

“That’s your doing? Why does that not surprise me one bit?” Derek frowns.

“Don’t look at me!” Stiles complains with a laugh. “Not my fault you’re a clumsy wolf.”

Stiles takes some napkins off Ali when she returns and he kneels to start mopping up the liquid. Unfortunately, it’s at the same time that Derek chooses to bend down to start picking up the bigger bits of glass and they bump heads, hard.

“Ow! Why does everyone keep head butting me!” Stiles rubs his forehead.

“Bah!” Henry chips in.

“Welcome back Son,” his dad smiles and leans down to pat him on the shoulder. “I’m really glad you made it.”

Derek stares at Stiles from where they’re both perched on the floor and Stiles can tell he’s trying his very best to glare, but it doesn’t really make it all the way to his eyes.

Stiles sticks his tongue out and grins when Derek rolls his eyes at him. Stiles’ heart gives a happy twinge.

“Yeah Dad... it’s good to be home...” Stiles bites on his lip thoughtfully. It really is.

—————

“So Stiles, where you staying this week?” Liam asks around an ungodly mouthful of food.

They’re all crammed around Scott and Malia’s kitchen table, happily munching away on sandwiches, their traditional little prelude to Christmas Day; Scott had managed to wrangle the kids to bed with many threats of Santa not stopping at the houses where the children were still awake.

Stiles is trying desperately to ignore the way that Derek’s pressed in tight all along his side, the only plus about being crammed in next to him being that he doesn’t have to look at his ridiculously handsome face.

Derek’s not helping matters with the way he’s got an arm slung casually across the back of Stiles’ chair. Stiles keeps finding himself angling back and cuddling into the warm crook of Derek’s armpit and then he keeps jerking forward when he realises. Derek does not remove his arm, even when after the third time he does it he bangs his knee loudly on the table leg. It’s all very tense.

Lydia won’t join them until tomorrow, as she likes to spend Christmas morning with her Mom and Melissa has got the Christmas Eve night shift this year, which is why Malia and Liam have taken over the cooking duties.

When Melissa had found out she’d be working, her sole requirement was that neither John nor Scott would have anything to do with the cooking.

Malia’s not much better in the kitchen department, Stiles can testify from experience, but she can take instruction and Liam’s surprisingly more than adept. Well, he makes a mean sandwich anyway.

“Err, I’m staying here?” Stiles answers around a bite of food.

“Dude, you can’t! Liam’s got the guest room. When you said you probably weren’t coming back, we asked him to stay over, he has to get up super early to sort out Donald,” Scott says apologetically.

“Ah of course, I didn’t think. No biggie. I can stay at Dad and Mel’s... It’s only a week,” Stiles shrugs. “Also, I told you not to name the turkey Scotty, you always get too attached and sulk when it’s time to carve it. Remember the year of Bertha big bird?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about Bertha,” Scott says mournfully. “RIP you tasty lady.”

“I hate to burst your bubble Son but since Mel moved in we’ve been getting some renovations done and currently the house is a building site. Your old room doesn’t even have any carpet, there was a leak when we had the plumbing done. We don’t have heating either, they can’t come until the new year now, we’ve even been showering here. I’ve got an air mattress somewhere though, you can sleep next to our bed on the floor, we have a portable heater in our room,” John offers graciously. “If you’d said you were coming back I would have blown it up ready for you.”

“Eww no thank you Dad, as generous and frankly traumatising as that all sounds,” Stiles makes a face.

This could actually be a real problem. He’d just assumed Scott would have room for him.

“Look, it’s fine,” Stiles starts desperately thinking. “I’m sure Lydia could maybe...”

“You can stay with me,” Derek mutters, cutting him off, eyes on his sandwich.

The silence is deafening and Stiles can feel Derek tense at his side.

“I am frankly shocked and humbled at Derek’s generosity,” John says dryly and he winces when Stiles kicks him under the table.

“What?!” Liam chips in. “Derek, can I remind you of the time when my parents moved away and there were those three, very homeless days between then and me moving in to my apartment down the road? Right when Malia just had Henry, so I couldn’t stay here? You said, and this is a direct quote by the way, ‘Liam, you can’t stay with me because I only have one bed and I don’t like the thought of you crushing my couch cushions with your bony body’. I had to stay in a motel!”

Derek shrugs and looks up at Liam.

“This is an emergency,” Derek doesn’t seem at all bothered.

“I got a rash from those sheets!” Liam points a finger at Derek, growl starting up.

“Ok, ok, no fighting, it’s Christmas guys! Stiles is staying at Derek’s, it’s settled,” Scott nods.

“Or I could sleep on your couch instead,” Stiles grumbles at Scott.

He wasn’t entirely sure going into this that he could survive the whole week without embarrassing himself stupid in front of Derek, let alone having to keep it together enough live with the guy.

Not to mention the fact he will be expected to sleep metres away from Derek’s bedroom, from where Derek will be laying, in Derek’s bed.

Yeah he’s going to die, likely from his major unrequited crush.

“What can I say, I don’t want you to crush my couch cushions with your bony body,” Scott laughs. “Seriously though, Henry is going through a not sleeping through the night phase, so Malia and me are take turns getting up with him. You won’t get a wink of sleep on our couch, I can promise you that.”

“Awesome,” Stiles glares at his supposed best friend.

When he chances a peek at Derek after everyone resumes chatting, he’s startled to find Derek looking at him. They’re so close, Stiles could count Derek’s dark lashes. He tries for a second then gets a bit lost looking at Derek’s eyes. He needs to stop doing that.

“What?” Derek cocks his head, voice low so that the others carry on talking, this conversation clearly just meant for them.

“What?” Stiles repeats dopily.

“You’re staring at me,” Derek frowns.

“Sorry,” Stiles whispers, but he doesn’t look away. “Technically you’re staring at me too Sourwolf.”

“Huh.” Derek says. But he doesn’t look away either.

“You sure I can stay with you?” Stiles asks quietly. “I think I could probably get a hotel if push came to shove.”

“I said it was fine,” Derek shrugs.

“Well you don’t seem all that happy about it,” Stiles frowns back.

“I’m over the moon,” Derek bares his teeth.

“Yeah you really look it,” Stiles snorts. “It’s fine, I know I’m not exactly your favourite, but I’ll stay out of your hair as much as I can.”

“You are my fa... I mean... look, it’s fine. I am. I am happy about it. It will be good to see you. Properly. Without everyone else around all the time,” Derek clarifies. “You’ve haven’t been to my new apartment yet.”

“Aww see, I knew you missed me really,” Stiles knocks Derek’s knee with his.

“Maybe just a little,” Derek smiles, cute little bunny teeth catching his lower lip and he knocks his knee back, and if anyone asks him in the future, Stiles will refer to this very moment, as the moment he knew he was totally screwed.

Because seeing Derek smiling a weird little bashful smile that he’s definitely never seen him make before, but he’s somehow doing it for him, becomes an immediate addiction. He’s calling it the Stiles special smile.

He feels possessed. He wonders how much he can make Derek smile that smile in one week.

Oh yes. Maybe totally screwed doesn’t cover it.

He shakes his head to clear it of absurd thoughts of romancing Derek and shimmy’s his chair away from him so that their legs are no longer touching, ignoring Derek’s confused look.

“You know what makes for the best Christmas Eve dudes? Tequila!” Stiles suggests loudly.

“Hell yes,” Malia stands up to get the shot glasses.

As the first shot burns a stripe of fire straight down his throat he winces and vows to not think anymore about Derek, his stupid smile and especially not to think anymore about Derek’s bed.

—————

When Stiles wakes up the next morning he’s laying in Derek’s bed.

Well he’s hoping like hell that it’s Derek’s bed because otherwise, given the naked male back he’s staring at, the night before he’d escaped Scott and Malia’s, picked up a stranger that looks identical to Derek from behind, triskelion tattoo included and he'd gone home with him.

His head is pounding and he smacks his lips together, mouth dry as the Gobi desert.

He pokes Derek in middle of his tattoo and Derek groans and rolls onto his back, arm slung over his eyes and white sheet slung low on his hips.

Stiles slowly moves one of the pillows over his own lap. Awkward boner is his middle name. Well actually it’s Sidney, but hey, no one asked that.

He sits up rubbing his eyes.

“Der. Wake up. It’s Christmas!” Stiles peeks under the sheets and he’s relieved to see both he and Derek still have underwear on, and Stiles, in addition to that, has also retained one Batman sock.

“This is all your fault,” Derek mumbles, voice gravelly with sleep.

“Can’t remember it, can't be blamed for it. Dem’s da rules," Stiles spots his luggage poking out from under the bed.

He leans over the side of the mattress, regrets it immediately when the world tilts and he has a precarious few seconds where barfing is most definitely on the table.

He closes his eyes, gets open the zipper on his bag, fumbling blindly and he manages to extract a mostly full bottle of Gatorade he'd picked up at the airport.

He slugs half before tapping on Derek’s arm with the bottle and then falls on his back, mirroring Derek. Derek takes the bottle and downs the rest, leaving his arm covering his eyes.

“How are you even hungover?" Stiles asks.

"Do you not remember after you sank about half a bottle of tequila, declaring it was unfair for you to have all the fun and cracking out a huge bottle of something labelled “Full Moon Shine”, Derek mumbles.

"Noooooo. That bottle cost me nearly five hundred dollars. I had to call in a favour from Deaton, he has a friend who makes it special down in Georgia. That was supposed to be Scott's Christmas present,” Stiles groans.

“We gathered that. You unwrapped it yourself and threw the tag at Liam’s head,” Derek mumbles from under his arm. “You sang Happy Christmas to Scott in the tune of Happy Birthday while forcing us all to drink it.”

"Oh my god, please stop talking now,” Stiles sits up again.

Derek peeks out from under his arm to look at him with one eye open, dark hair adorably rumpled, so much so that Stiles wants to smooth it down. Stiles sits on his hands.

“You did this to me. I'm going to be hungover on Christmas day because of you," Derek growls.

“Ok, ok! Look I’ll go make us my famous hangover cure and we can call it even,” Stiles gallantly pushes to his feet and grabs his phone, which is inexplicably in one of his shoes. “We don’t have to be there until two, it’s not even midday yet.”

“Fine. Make me coffee. So much coffee,” Derek pulls the sheets over his head.

"Are we going to discuss how we ended up sharing a bed?" Stiles wiggles his eyebrows. “Or would you like to just blissfully ignore it, oh Alpha mine?”

“The second one," Derek mumbles from under the sheet.

“We didn't... I mean, you know... we didn’t do anything right?” Stiles yanks his discarded pants on.

Derek shoots up to a sitting position, face a picture of outrage.

“No! You were practically incoherent. You sang the frozen soundtrack, well I think that’s what it was, all the way back from Scott’s house while I was left carrying your bag. You couldn’t even get into bed without my help. Also, I tried to take the couch and you complained you were lonely and cold, so much so that Mr. Francis from next door banged on the wall. You only shut up when I gave in and got in here with you, then you passed out.”

“Let it go Derek. Let it go...” Stiles wiggles his eyebrows. “You seem to remember a whole lot about last night, I thought you were allegedly drunk too?”

Derek throws a pillow at him with such force, when it hits him it nearly knocks him over.

“Clearly I was nowhere near as bad as you. Or maybe I can just handle it better,” Derek complains. “Coffee now. You’re annoying me.”

“Yeah but you love me really," Stiles throws over his shoulder as he stumbles out of the room in search of a bathroom.

Derek doesn't say a thing.

——————

It turned out that Stiles’ infamous hangover cure was actually pretty effective for both Werewolves and humans alike: it was literally just watching cartoons in bed, eating many bacon sandwiches with ketchup, all washed down with a fridge cold Coca Cola, followed by a hot shower.

The last bit they did separately.

By the time they arrive back at Scott’s it’s just after two in the afternoon, they’re both clad in bright Christmas sweaters and they’re both feeling almost back to normal.

They don’t really get a chance to knock or let themselves in because the front door is yanked open abruptly when they reach the porch.

Stiles bursts out laughing when Scott is revealed, looking ghostly pale and pretty much like he's been dragged through a bush and maced, then left outside overnight.

His eyes glow red when he sees Stiles.

"I'm going to murder you," Scott scrambles for him, so he hides behind Derek.

“Hey dude, you're an adult, you made your own choices!" Stiles squeals. “I didn’t exactly pour it down your neck.”

“You literally poured it down my neck!” Scott shrieks. “Mal has a video.”

“Oops,” Stiles grins.

"Get in here, you can play with the kids for a bit. I already let them open the presents you got for them, I couldn’t take the excitement and constant nagging this morning, I feel like I’m in hell. Malia’s not happy with you at all by the way. Liam overslept and didn’t put the turkey in until nearly eleven, then he cut it into four bits with his claws so it would cook faster. It ain’t pretty.” Scott heads inside.

Stiles tries to ignore the warm feeling he gets when Derek places a palm on his lower back to usher him into the house.

They head into the sitting room where Lydia’s sitting on the large, green rug doing some art and craft complicated looking snowman creation with Ali and Henry.

His dad is watching the game, beer in hand and he offers them a wave but doesn’t look at them.

Henry grabs up a piece of cotton wool and makes to shove it in his mouth but Lydia doesn’t miss a beat, catching and unfurling his tiny but strong little fist with one hand and shoving a carrot stick in his mouth with the other.

“Thanks for my presents Uncle Stiles and Uncle Derek,” Ali says sweetly.

“No problem sugar plum,” Stiles winks at her.

“Hey. Where have you two been?" Lydia eyes them critically.

"Had a lay in. Derek got me drunk last night,” Stiles shrugs.

Derek flops down on the couch and Henry immediately waddles over to him to be picked up. Derek admirably ignores all the flying carrot dribble and tucks Henry in to sit beside him, chatting to him in adorably non-sensical baby gibberish.

Stiles doesn't realise he's staring until Lydia clears her throat to get his attention.

"I'll bet he did,” Lydia smirks evilly. “You both look rather relaxed this afternoon, I must say.”

Stiles flushes and Derek looks up, offering him one of the Stiles special smiles before turning his attention back to Henry, who is now generously offering Derek some half chewed carrot. Derek doesn’t take it.

Stiles makes zip it motions at Lydia, pleading with wide eyes, until she stands up.

"Ali honey, carry on with this one. Maybe pop some buttons on him and a carrot nose before Henry eats them all. Me and Uncle Stiles are going for a little chat, then I'll be right back,” Lydia crooks a manicured finger, beckoning for Stiles to follow her into the kitchen.

“Beer me,” His dad calls at him, holding out his empty bottle for Stiles to swipe as he goes past.

When they get to the kitchen Melissa is there drinking a glass of wine sat at the breakfast counter, watching a slightly nauseous looking Liam fuss over various pots and pans.

“I thought you were meant to be having this year off the cooking duties,” Stiles kisses her cheek and she pats his arm in greeting.

"I'm just supervising. Well refereeing actually. Listen, I’ll get your dad another beer in a minute, I’ve brought alcohol free ones which I’m giving him instead. Better for his beer belly,” Mel smiles slyly and Stiles, not for the first time, finds himself feeling really grateful his dad and Mel finally got together. Mel is awesome. “I’m gonna come straight back out here after taking it to him mind you, after the turkey fiasco, Malia might carve up poor Liam if he messes anything else up. I'm here purely for his safety. She’s very keen that dinner goes well. Scarily so."

"I heard that!" Malia yells from the garden.

"You were meant to sweetie, now enjoy your time out and only come back in when you can guarantee that you won’t hit Liam with the spatula again,” Mel yells back.

They hear a clang and some banging that sounds suspiciously like some bins being kicked and Malia doesn’t come back.

Liam sighs in relief.

“Thanks Mel,” Liam says.

“Sure hon. Stiles you look tired, you’re working too hard,” Melissa eyes him suspiciously.

“Maybe a little,” Stiles shrugs. “What can ya do.”

“He had a long night at Derek’s,” Lydia smirks. “Not much sleep if you know what I’m saying.”

“Stop. Please. Nothing happened,” Stiles says, voice hard.

Lydia cocks her head.

“Stiles, help me get some presents from the car,” Lydia tugs on his arm until he follows her out the front way.

“Are you kidding right now? You spent the night and nothing happened?” She digs her nails into his arm on the door step.

“It’s not what you think, just drop it,” Stiles glares. “Change the subject. Please.”

“Fine. But we’re having this conversation at some point. Did you hear back about the transfer yet?” Lydia asks instead, when they’re out the door and making their way down the icy front path.

“Shhh, Dad might hear. Or Scott, he’ll be even worse than Dad. I don’t want to get their hopes up. My boss said she would let me know over the holidays. If it goes through, that would be the dream. I can see you guys all the time,” Stiles sighs wistfully.

“Do you think it will work out? It doesn’t sound like something the FBI would usually do," Lydia hums, unlocking her car and getting in. Stiles climbs into the passenger seat and she cranks up the heating.

"Maybe, can't see why not. I can consult from pretty much anywhere and my boss has been making noise about situating agents in smaller towns for a while now, build some bridges with local law enforcement, that sort of thing,” Stiles shrugs. “Imagine, I’d be rocking up at my dad’s work most days, not sure how he’d feel about that!”

“You know he’d love it. Derek would too,” Lydia says slyly.

“Hmm," Stiles says non-commitedly.

"Scott said you two were very cosy last night,” Lydia grins evilly.

"Oh fantastic,” Stiles places his hands over his face. “We’re doing this. Fine. Get it all out now then.”

“Bet you didn’t say that to Derek last night,” Lydia smirks, tugging his hands away from his face.

"I swear that nothing happened," Stiles says truthfully.

“Sure, sure. And that's the reason why Derek’s murderous looking eyebrows are peeking through the curtains and he’s giving me a death glare right now, is it?" Lydia examines her nails.

She waves in the direction of the house and Stiles sees the gap in the curtains yank shut abruptly.

"I'm not going to survive today," Stiles groans.

“Me either lover boy,” Lydia says seriously. “Parrish just pulled up the drive look, so now I have to deal with three exes today, all showing up to this little shindig.”

“You can’t count me as an ex, two weeks of awkward kissing, a relationship does not make,” Stiles says seriously. “Hey wait. Who is ex number three? It better not be Derek Lydia, or I swear, we’re going to fight...”

"Of course it’s not Derek, dumbass. For one, I wouldn’t do that to you on the account that you're hopelessly in love with him and two, Derek’s gayer than a rainbow coloured Unicorn being ridden by Elton John,” Lydia declares.

“Fair enough,” Stiles mutters, too tired to argue on either point. “Although the gay thing hasn’t been much of a barrier for you before, just saying.”

“You take that back Stilinski,” Lydia frowns and Stiles instantly likes how the tables have turned. “I didn’t exactly know Jackson was gay.”

“Sure you didn’t. It’s because you create us. Drive us to the dick,” Stiles laughs. “Dated Jackson. Boom. Gay. Dated me. Boom! Gay. Parrish! Boom. Bisexual. Which is sometimes gay.”

“I actually hate you," Lydia sneers.

"I think I can live with that. Come on. Let’s head back inside, I want to ask Parrish at exactly which point in your relationship it was when he knew he liked dicks as well as lady gardens,” Stiles gets out of the car. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about your third ex... I will literally punch you in the boob if it’s my dad.”

“It’s not your dad,” Lydia rolls her eyes. “They’re not even here yet, they’re probably coming later on.”

“I will find out,” Stiles glares then has a horrible thought as he racks his brains as to who is missing. “Wait, it’s not Peter Hale is it? I thought he was in Guatemala...”

“I was just sick a little in my mouth,” Lydia replies seriously.

—————

He doesn’t get the chance to grill Lydia any further however because dinner is ready when they get back to the house.

Parrish greets Stiles in the sitting room by coming over and sniffing the top his head, naturally. Everyone he knows is a complete weirdo.

“What? I showered before I came over,” Stiles says offendedly.

“You smell odd. I dunno...” Parrish sniffs him again then his eyes go wide. Parrish glances toward Derek on the couch, who now has a beer in hand and is seemingly engrossed watching the game with the Sheriff. “Oh. You really smell like Derek. Like quite a lot.”

Stiles knows better than to think Derek’s watching the game, he can practically see Derek’s ear pricking up.

“I’m staying at his,” Stiles offers. “I used his shower gel.”

“Oh right. Are you two... you know?” Parrish asks curiously.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that? No, nothing happened,” Stiles bristles.

He badly wants to add ‘unfortunately’ but Derek’s still clearly listening in. Nosy wolf.

“Cool,” and god bless Parrish’s easy going nature, he just drops the subject.

Malia ushers them all to the dining table and Parrish motions for Stiles to sit next to him so he does, Derek taking the seat on his other side.

The turkey being hacked into in four pieces doesn’t affect the taste, lucky for Liam and dinner is a messy and loud affair. The food is amazing though and they all spend a while thanking Malia and Liam.

Stiles loses his cracker pull to Derek, but Derek graciously lets him keep the little comb that falls out of it.

Parrish grabs his attention just as he’s stuffed his mouth full with mashed potatoes covered in cranberry sauce.

“So Stiles, are you seeing anyone up in DC?” Parrish dips his head and lowers his voice when he asks and Stiles chokes until Parrish pats him on the back, laughing low.

“Sorry, bad timing,” Parrish laughs.

Stiles has to fight the urge to turn around and look at Derek, wanting to know what he’s thinking.

They’ve tiptoed around their weird little tension thing for so long, Stiles is more unsure that ever where he stands with the guy. He can’t say yes to Parrish’s question because it’s not true.

He doesn’t currently have a boyfriend, he’s just emotionally unavailable, because Lydia's completely right.

He’s wanted to be with Derek for a long time, long enough it’s stopped him having any lasting relationships. He does ok, but something always holds him back from committing long term. Who is he kidding. That something is so Derek.

“Erm no, no I’m not seeing anyone. Not at the moment,” Stiles answers truthfully.

“Cool. Did you maybe want to go for dinner with me while you’re back then?” Parrish asks casually.

“Oh. Like. Like on a date?” Stiles can’t quite fathom that they’re doing this here.

Even Lydia is watching them out of the corner of her eye as she talks to Mel.

“Yeah. Exactly like a date,” Parrish grins his easy grin and Stiles would love to say yes but Parrish is just not... well he’s not Derek.

No one is Derek, apart from Derek. That’s kind of his problem.

Derek gets up abruptly, muttering “gotta pee” and he stalks from the room.

Stiles watches him go, heart thudding in his chest.

When he turns back to Parrish, the guy is still smiling his easy going smile.

“Ah. My bad,” Parrish shrugs.

“Wait. Did you do that on purpose?” Stiles frowns.

“Not at all. If you do want to go out with me, I’m more than up for that. But I’ve got a feeling you might want to go check on Derek first,” Parrish winks at Lydia.

“Stop meddling,” Stiles hisses. “The both of you.”

Derek comes back just as they’re finishing up, studiously avoiding Stiles’ gaze and they all retire to the sitting room, drinks in hand. Stiles is only drinking water, not wanting to repeat the previous evening.

Stiles sits down and helps Ali do some Christmas drawings with the art set he got her and he absentmindedly doodles a picture of some mistletoe.

“What’s that you’re drawing Uncle Stiles?” Ali asks him.

“Oh this? This is mistletoe. If you ever see this in real life, don’t go anywhere near it kiddo, it makes supernatural people real sick. But in the human world, they hang it up at Christmas time and if two people end up meeting underneath it, they kiss,” Stiles explains.

“Show me?” Ali asks, like she’s not quite sure what he’s explaining.

Stiles holds the picture above Henry’s head and he kisses the baby on the forehead.

“Like that,” Stiles grins as Henry makes kissy sounds back at him.

“Oooh,” Ali squeals. “I get it now.”

Ali takes the picture and she goes around everyone one by one, holding up the little picture and kissing everyone on the forehead. It amuses her for way longer than Stiles thought it would. Then again, she is Scott’s kid. Stiles once witnessed Scott carry a cucumber around in his rucksack for three weeks when they were in kindergarten. He drew eyes on it and everything and only handed it over when it started getting goopy and leaked through onto his T-shirt one day.

Ali holds up the picture between Malia and Scott and she giggles when her mom pecks her dad on the lips.

Stiles gets up and he flops down on the couch next to Derek. He pokes him in his side.

“You ok there big guy?” Stiles asks.

“Yep,” Derek says, not really looking at him.

“How come you’re sulking then?” Stiles pokes him again, digging his finger into Derek’s rib this time.

“Stop poking me,” Derek growls at him.

“That’s what she said,” Stiles grins.

Stiles glances over to where Ali is holding her picture up to the Sheriff and John kisses her hand when she holds it out to him.

Then he sees his dad whispering something in Ali’s ear with a maniacal grin on his face, and he points at Stiles and Derek.

Ali’s eyes go wide and she giggles. The Sheriff looks very pleased with himself all of a sudden and Stiles’ stomach plummets.

Uh oh.

Ali runs back across the room towards Stiles, jumping over Henry’s head and launches herself up on the back of the couch.

She holds the picture high above Stiles and Derek’s head and she waits. They both look up in unison, identical and comical horror on their faces.

“Kiss!” Ali giggles.

Everyone stops and looks at them. The Sheriff looks like he’s about to die laughing.

Stiles gives him the middle finger and the Sheriff pretends to grab the air and put it in his pocket. He’s a Comedian all right.

“Oh no sweet pea, listen... Uncle Derek doesn’t want...” Stiles begins.

Derek rolls his eyes and grabs him by the collar and unceremoniously kisses him straight on the mouth.

It’s gentle and warm and basically the complete opposite of what Stiles always imagined that kissing Derek might be like.

It’s over before Stiles can really process what’s happening and Stiles is left sitting there with his mouth hanging slightly open because Derek caught him mid sentence.

Derek sits back and Stiles can see his eyes are ringed red.

And oh. Maybe Derek does want.

Stiles touches his mouth, dumbstruck, as Ali claps.

Just as Stiles has just about recovered enough to yank Derek from the room and get an explanation for whatever the hell that was, the door opens.

“Hey Chris, how’s it going? We saved you a plate,” John greets but Chris Argent strides purposefully past all of them, right to where Lydia's sitting in the armchair, her face looking increasingly panicked.

Chris drops to one knee in front of her and whips a small box out of his pocket.

“Lydia. I can’t stop thinking about you. I know you said that we’d be ridiculous together but I don’t care. I want you and I want the baby,” Chris declares, face hard. “I don’t care what everyone else thinks.”

“What in Satan’s name...” Stiles starts, but Derek clamps a hand over his mouth.

Chris opens the box and Stiles sees a glint of gold.

“Lydia Martin... Will you marry me?” Chris asks her.

“Am I awake right now? Seriously, is this happening?” Scott says and Malia punches him in the knee.

“I...” Lydia says and she honestly looks more shocked than Stiles has ever seen her.

“Say yes Aunt Lydia!” Ali calls.

Lydia looks at Ali and slowly, she looks back at Chris.

“Oh what the hell,” Lydia shrugs.

The Sheriff starts a weak clap that trails off but then everyone recovers enough to start congratulating them. Chris lifts Lydia off her feet and Stiles is not crying, you are.

What? It’s been very a dramatic five minutes for him.

“Well I didn’t see that one coming, congratulations I guess,” John hands Chris a beer.

Stiles lets Derek tug him from the room as he wipes at his face.

Derek’s destination seems to be the en-suite bathroom off Scott and Malia’s bedroom.

Derek pulls him inside and locks the door behind them. There is not a whole bunch of room, it’s basically a toilet, a sink and a scented candle on a shelf.

“What the frack?” Stiles asks.

“Soundproof,” Derek shrugs.

“Oh yes. Because Scott can’t poop if he thinks someone’s listening,” Stiles acknowledges.

“Please don’t talk about Scott pooping,” Derek pinches the bridge of his nose.

“You’re the one who dragged me into a toilet,” Stiles points out the obvious.

“Look. You can’t go out with Jordan,” Derek announces flatly, face intense.

“Oh. I’m not,” Stiles frowns. “But if I wanted to, I could. But I’m not so...”

“Your dad works with him, it would be a conflict of... wait. You’re not?” Derek deflates, as if he’d had a whole speech prepared.

“Nope. Although that’s a genius reason you thought up there, it would be so bad to date one of my dad’s deputies right?” Stiles thinks screw it, he’s been inspired by Chris and Lydia’s weird and almost unbelievable love match.

Derek’s nostrils flare as Stiles presses in closer, backing Derek up in the small space until his butt hits the sink.

“So bad,” Derek agrees, eyes on Stiles’ mouth.

“Does that mean all the deputies are off limits?” Stiles brushes his hips up against Derek’s and leans in so he’s hovering inches away from his mouth.

Derek’s eyes flash red and his hands come to rest on Stiles’ hips.

“Well it depends, who did you have in mind?” Derek’s voice is barely more than a growl and Stiles’ dick twitches in response.

“I dunno, Greenburg was looking pretty fit at the summer BBQ...” Stiles muses.

Derek does growl this time and due to their proximity, Stiles can actually feel it vibrating his bones.

He tilts his head a little, instinctually and he feels the tip of Derek’s nose drag over the pulse point in his neck.

“You smell... god you smell so...” Derek murmurs against his skin.

“Yeah... Derek yeh, tell me...” Stiles tilts his head back even further.

“You smell... fuck, you smell like you’re on fire!” Derek exclaims loudly.

"Shit!” Stiles shrieks, spinning in the small space.

Derek grabs him and it's not the sexy manhandling that he had in mind, not at all. Derek turns on the faucet and roughly shoves his his head underneath it, essentially soaking him.

“I think I’m good,” Stiles says dryly after a minute, patting Derek’s trembling arm.

Derek lets him up and his face is ashen as he feels the back of Stiles’ head. He rubs over Stiles’ hair with a towel and spins him, fingers carding through his hair, before leaning around him to blow out the candle on the little shelf.

“I’m ok,” Stiles says, because he is. A bit shocked, but otherwise fine.

“I think you just singed the back of your head hair a little,” Derek grumbles, fingers stroking over the nape of his neck.

“Guess I’ll have to go back to the buzz cut huh,'” Stiles muses.

“Don’t,” Derek tugs on the hair at the top of his head, “I mean... this is good.”

“Yeah?” Stiles smiles at him. Maybe the moment isn’t ruined after all.

Derek steps away and unlocks the door. Or maybe it is.

“Come on,” Derek says grabbing the candle with a steely look on his face. “I’m going to go speak to Scott about proper fire safety.”

“Of course you are,” Stiles sighs.

—————

“Why were both of you in the bathroom together anyway!” Scott pokes a finger into Derek’s chest.

Derek’s cornered him in the kitchen, out of the way of the kids.

“Scott, that’s hardly the point. That bathroom is too small for a candle to be lit unattended, especially on a shelf that’s right at head height,” Derek snarls.

“Calm down, both of you,” Stiles huffs. “It just singed a little patch, look, no harm done.”

Stiles turns around to show the adults.

“A patch that’s about the size of a potato,” John offers. “You’re lucky Derek was there Son.”

“I wouldn’t have been in there at all if it wasn’t for Derek!” Stiles offers.

Derek looks at him with this kicked puppy expression.

“Oh, no, don’t give me that look,” Stiles starts.

“Anyway, that candle is just for decoration. We never even light it,” Scott chips back in. “I really don’t know how that happened.”

“That’s true actually,” Malia supports.

“Oh. Erm. That part might actually be my fault,” Lydia confesses, not at all bothered when Derek turns his glare on her.

“You lit it?” Stiles asks.

“I was being sick all morning and didn’t want to use the main bathroom. Malia kindly let me use the en-suite,” Lydia hums. “Sorry Stiles.”

Derek deflates.

“So that’s settled. No harm done,” Stiles says cheerily.

“Are you sure you aren’t suffering with a bit of delayed shock? Maybe you should rest for a while,” Derek says tersely.

“God no dude, stop fussing, I’m totally fine,” Stiles says brightly and then he looks at Derek.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like me to walk you back to mine so you can have a rest?” Derek’s eyebrows are doing a very complicated dance.

“Oh for heavens sake,” Lydia mutters.

“Oh! I mean ohhh... yes, now you mention it Derek, I could do with a lie down. It’s all hitting me at once, I feel rather giddy all of a sudden,” Stiles wobbles a little where he’s standing for good measure.

Derek rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed with his acting.

“Uncle Stiles, how come you’re telling lies?” Ali tugs on his sleeve.

He didn’t even see her come in, stealthy puppy.

“I'm not!” Stiles tries desperately.

“Maybe you should go have a nap or something Son. You can always come back later on to open your presents from everyone. The kids are done, the rest can wait, right?” The Sheriff says sensibly.

“Ok Pops, great plan,” Stiles grabs Derek’s sleeve.

God bless his dad.

“Great,” John grabs his jacket off the back of the chair. “I’ll drive you.”

“I’m sorry, you’ll drive me what now?” Stiles says.

“Sheriff there’s really no need, it’s like a five minute walk, if that,” Derek tries.

“Yes but it’s cold Deputy,” The Sheriff and Derek stand locked in a staring contest. “You don’t want my son to be cold do you Derek?”

“No sir.” Derek grits out.

Stiles hear Derek mumble that they’ll be at their destination by the time the heat kicks on in the cruiser.

“Great,” John claps his hands undeterred. “Cruisers out front.”

“Brilliant,” Stiles says dryly.

—————

“Well this is just like old times,” Stiles says over the headrest, to where Derek’s sitting in the back of the cruiser, stifling a chuckle. Derek looks less than impressed.

“I had an ulterior motive offering you a lift," John confesses, eyes on the road.

“Why doesn't that surprise me Daddio?” Stiles groans.

He didn’t think his dad would be so cruel as to grill him bout him about him and Derek in front of Derek.

"How come you didn't tell me you were moving back to Beacon Hills Son?” John says softly.

“What?” Stiles wasn’t quite expecting that. “How’d you know?”

“I know everything, "John says cryptically, pointedly looking in his rearview mirror and eyeing Derek.

“It’s not done and dusted," Stiles tries.

“Your boss called me last night to ask if I’d be comfortable with you basing yourself out of the station,” John says, making the left turn to Derek’s.

Stiles estimates they’ll get there tomorrow evening, his dad is driving about one mile per hour,

“That’s so unprofessional,” Stiles grumbles.

“It was a personal call, not professional,” John defends. “She’s still got my cell number from that time we dated, back when you first got made an agent.”

“I was trying so hard to repress that,” Stiles sinks into his seat.

“So anyway, I think it’s a green light if you want it, from what she said...” John glances over and his face looks so hopeful.

Stiles feels Derek hook a finger through the grid of the partition and rest it on his shoulder. It’s more grounding than it should be.

“Yeah Dad. Of course I want it. I get to do my dream job, be part of a new initiative and be closer to all of you guys. Plus it’s quieter here than ever on the monster front right, what’s not to like? I’m more worried that there won’t be enough action,” Stiles smiles.

“A Siren tried to drown me last week,” Derek adds helpfully. “I’m sure we can keep you entertained.”

“What?” Stiles turns to face him accusingly. “Why didn’t any of you tell me that?”

“Because she didn’t manage it. The call wasn’t strong enough and the face it chose wasn’t... erm... I don’t know. Wasn’t convincing enough for me,” Derek shrugs, looking suddenly fascinated with the trees going past the window.

“How so?” Stiles narrows his eyes.

“Oh look, there’s the junction where you tried to kick me out of your jeep when I was bleeding to death. Good times,” Derek points.

“This isn’t over,” Stiles frowns.

“Well I’m glad you’re coming back,” The Sheriff speeds up. “That makes me really happy kiddo. I miss you. We all do.”

John glances in the rearview pointedly and pulls the cruiser to the curb outside Derek’s.

“Right, I’ll probably be gone if you do come back to Scott’s later, I’m on a shift,” John hugs him over the centre console.

John presses a button which lets Derek open the back door.

“Ok Daddio, I’ll come see you tomorrow. Maybe we can do breakfast at Picallo’s?” Stiles asks hopefully.

“Definitely, if I can have bacon,” his dad adds hastily.

“You can have one slice of bacon, but only as its Christmas," Stiles tells him, running up to the door, where Derek’s waiting.

“Oh and Son?” The Sheriff calls.

“Yeah Dad?” Stiles yells back.

“Bring Derek,” His dad peels away like he’s auditioning for The fast and the furious sixty seven, or whatever number it is they’re on now.

“He’s so embarss-argh,” Stiles yells as Derek drags him inside and presses him up against the inside of the door.

“You’re moving back.” Derek states, so close Stiles can feel his breath ghosting over his lips.

“Guess so...” Stiles can’t look away from Derek’s eyes, they’re flirting between glowing red and normal, as if he’s having a little trouble controlling himself. “That ok with you big guy?”

Stiles guesses it is because Derek grabs his face in his hands and kisses him, hard.

Derek licks his way into Stiles’ mouth, kissing him filthy, hot and fast and in total contrast to how he’d kissed him on the couch at Scott and Malia’s house. Stiles moans because right here, this was exactly how he’d pictured kissing Derek and it’s so much more.

Derek’s everywhere at once.

Stiles whimpers as Derek cups his hard dick through his pants with one of his big hands and rucks his sweater up with the other.

“This ok?” Derek bites out, running his teeth across Stiles’ collar bone.

“Ok?” Stiles gasps, grabbing at Derek’s belt buckle and fumbling it open. “No one could ever use the word Ok to describe anything you do Derek, you’re fucking amazing.”

Derek laughs against his neck and sucks hard on his skin, marking him.

Stiles groans desperately as he manages to get a hand down the front of Derek’s boxers and Derek nips him hard on the neck when Stiles gets a hand around his dick. He struggles to close his fingers together, fuck it’s thick.

“Sorry,” Derek soothes the skin on his neck with his tongue.

“Don’t be, I like it. I’ll tell you if it hurts,” Stiles whines, rocking his hips into Derek’s as he pumps his dick slowly.

Stiles pulls Derek’s cock out and he looks down, because he wants to see, and he isn’t disappointed.

Derek’s dick is hard and chunky, uncut and hot in his hand, the tip leaking glistening precome all over his hand on every stroke.

“Fuck Derek, your dick is beautiful,” Stiles groans and he runs his hand up and down the pulsing skin, thumbing Derek’s now exposed tip.

Derek snarls and kisses him again, reaches between them and undoes Stiles’ zipper, sliding it down.

Derek reaches both hands around Stiles, pulling his ass away from the door as his pants fall open, and Derek dips clever fingers into the waistband of his boxers and slides them down.

Derek grips one exposed cheek in each hand and he squeezes, making Stiles buck forward into him.

Stiles’ bare cock brushes up against Derek’s and Derek takes his mouth off him just long enough to look down at them both.

Derek drops to his knees immediately like he’s been shot, dragging his hands down Stiles’ sides and he just stares at Stiles’ dick, leaving Stiles a panting mess pinned to the door.

Stiles gets to watch as Derek flicks his tongue over the cut tip of his cock and he gets to hear it when Derek lets out a bone satisfied little moan, as if the taste of Stiles is just that good.

Derek doesn’t tease him, but instead he sucks him into his mouth and begins to give Stiles the best blow job he’s literally ever received and that’s saying something, because he’d sucked himself off once.

What? His dick is kind of long and he’d seen it on a porno once and he had gotten obsessed with trying it. Even that wasn’t as good as the feeling of Derek’s mouth on him though.

He realises he’s talking out loud when Derek pulls off long enough to say “if you keep talking I’m going to come.”

Derek’s stubbled chin grazing the base of his dick is a sensation revelation when Derek deep throats him. Stiles threads his hands into Derek’s hair to hold him steady as he tries not to fuck forward, but it’s hopeless.

Derek muscles a broad shoulder under one of Stiles’ knees, effectively pushing him up the door and the tip of his dick slides impossibly further down Derek’s fluttering throat and Stiles comes, hot and hard.

Derek takes it all, eyes watering and throat working until Stiles is spent. With a wet pop Derek releases him and stands, fists his own dick, pulling just once and spilling come all over Stiles’ softening cock.

Derek sags into him, position much like when he greeted him first in the hallway yesterday.

Stiles strokes Derek’s back and kisses his cheek until Derek pulls his face out of Stiles’ neck.

Derek looks at his mouth, then he does the Stiles special smile.

Stiles’ heart flips.

Derek kisses him softly.

“I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do that for,” Derek says quietly, like it’s a confession.

“Probably not as long as I have buddy,” Stiles pats his shoulder.

“Try me,” Derek tucks himself back in but leaves his jeans undone and Stiles mirrors him.

“Since I saw you in the woods when we were looking for Scott’s inhaler?” Stiles offers.

“Lie,” Derek taps his chest knowingly.

“Ah ok. But that’s only because I thought I hated you for the first two years I knew you, I didn’t realise all those pent up feelings of hatred toward you were because I wanted you to spank my little virgin ass,” Stiles laughs. “And you didn’t give in!”

“You were too young,” Derek tells him honestly.

“Yeh, probably. I would have just fallen hopelessly in love with you the second you so much as smouldered at me back then,” Stiles half jokes.

Derek leans in and give him an intense stare, eyes roaming Stiles’ body and coming to rest on his face.

Derek places one hand on the door either side of Stiles’ head, caging him in with his strong arms and pressing his body into him.

“And now?” Derek lets his fangs lengthen and his eyes bleed red.

Stiles gulps.

“Totally unaffected,” Stiles whimpers.

“That why you’re getting hard again?” Derek cups his dick.

“You’re going to sex me to death,” Stiles gets his arms around Derek’s neck and Derek hoists him up, making for the direction of the bedroom.

“I told you. I’ve been waiting a long time,” Derek throws him unceremoniously on the bed and strips off his own clothes.

Stiles gapes at Derek’s hard torso, it’s spectacular, no matter how many times he’s seen it and he excitedly wriggles out of his own jumper and ends up on his stomach, head and arms stuck.

When Derek is gloriously naked, he turns his attention to Stiles, tugging his sneakers off and gripping the ends of his pants, sliding them down.

Stiles’ boxers go the same way and Derek stalks onto the bed, sitting on the backs of his thighs and pinning him in place.

Derek tugs his jumper the rest of the way off and he traces his hands down Stiles’ spine, touch lingering on the dimples above his ass.

He palms Stiles’ cheeks again and Stiles feels him pull them apart, to get a better look at him.

“Fuck. Can I...? I’m going to put my mouth on you.” Derek tells him throatily.

“Please,” Stiles groans.

He’s shaking with the need to come by the time Derek has kissed and bitten his ass cheeks all over, on the verge of outright begging when he feels Derek lick over his exposed hole.

“Ngggh,” Stiles bucks into the bed.

Derek eats him fast and sloppy, spit dripping down Stiles’ balls.

Derek finally fucks a long finger in alongside his tongue, then another and it's not long before Stiles is pushing his ass back into Derek’s face, demanding more.

“Fuck, ok, ok,” Derek sounds as out of it as Stiles has ever heard him and he can hear him rummaging in his bedside drawer. “Fuck, I think I’m out of lube,” Derek snarls.

Stiles rolls off the bed, out from under Derek and he manages to get his feet under him.

"My bag,” Stiles fumbles around the floor.

Derek looks on the other side of the bed but Stiles sees a hint of yellow poking out from under a towel over by Derek’s dresser.

He bends to unzip it and grabs his lube triumphantly. When he stands, Derek’s standing awesomely naked right in front of him, huge dick standing proud against his happy trail.

“Fuck it. I love...” TOO SOON, ABORT, ABORT his brain supplies, “...your dick. I love your dick.”

Derek cocks his head adorably then he does the Stiles special smile again. Stiles internally fist pumps.

“My dick also has some feelings,” Derek says deadly seriously.

Derek picks him up by the thighs, which should be ridiculous because he is the same height as the dude, but hey, Werewolf. Derek sets him down on the waist height wooden dresser, stepping between his thighs and he wraps his arms around him.

Derek kisses his mouth first, biting his lower lip before making his way down his neck, taking the lube out of his hands.

“In fact, my dick loves how smart and funny you are,” Derek speaks against his skin as Stiles grips his hair.

“My dick loves how hard you work and how protective you are of your friends and family,” Derek bites the earlier bruise he’d created on his neck and Stiles groans.

“My dick loves the fact you're coming back to Beacon Hills and that it will get to see more of you,” Derek takes one of his nipples between his teeth and Stiles cries out.

“But most of all, my dick,” Derek groans out as he gets Stiles’ legs around his waist, ass still supported by the dresser and he pushes three lube covered fingers straight into his tight hole, “Fuck you’re so tight. I’m pretty sure my dick loves you.”

Stiles grips his shoulders as Derek finger fucks him relentlessly, stretching him, his dick slapping against his stomach.

"I'm good, I'm good, do it Der," Stiles doesn’t want to come until Derek’s inside him and he’s riding the line.

Derek tilts him back a little into the dresser and Stiles feels the tip of Derek’s dick against his wet hole.

“This might not last long,” Derek grunts, hands a death grip on Stiles’ thighs.

“Fucking race you,” Stiles pants and Derek pushes in, Stiles opening for him inch by inch.

Derek’s nostrils flare wildly when his cock is seated deep and he yanks Stiles closer to him, taking more of his weight. Derek begins a filthy grind that has Stiles reaching for his dick almost immediately.

“Don’t touch,” Derek grits out.

“Come on, fuck me then Der,” Stiles bites.

Derek pulls out and sets him on his feet and he flips him roughly, so Stiles has to place his palms on the wood to stop himself face planting the dresser. Derek holds him open, spits right on his twitching hole and shoves back inside.

And oh hell yes, this is what he’s talking about.

Derek holds him upright by the hips, so his ass is pressed tight against Derek’s front and he drags him fast and relentlessly on and off his dick.

When Derek palms the back of his head and presses his cheek gently down onto the cold wood, it tilts him forward. Derek’s dick pounds into him so deep at the new angle, he feels like he’s going to choke on it.

Derek’s hips begin to stutter when Stiles cries out on a particularly rough thrust, banging the dresser into the wall. Stiles can feel claws clutching his sides gently, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of this rough and gentle contradiction that is Derek Hale.

It’s like he was made for him.

“Stiles... shit... Stiles come,” Derek lisps around fangs.

And Stiles, bless his obedient dick does. His ass clenches brutally as he orgasms, dick untouched and Derek roars as he follows.

Stiles can feel his hot come spill deep in him, his ass still milking Derek’s dick in a vice grip.

Derek collapses over him, smoothing his hands down his sides.

“That. Was.” Derek kisses the singed spot on the back of his head.

“Yeah. Me too.” Stiles says breathlessly.

Derek drags him back to the bed and gets them both a glass of water before crawling in under the covers and spooning up to an already-asleep Stiles.

—————

Stiles wakes much later to a darkened room, a pleasant stiffness present in his body.

He realises what woke him.

Stiles feels Derek’s fingers, touching featherlight to his fucked out hole, still wet from Derek’s come, and Derek gives a satisfied, sleepy rumble into the back of his neck.

“Filthy wolf,” Stiles grumbles, snuggling closer.

“Smell good. Smell like mine,” Derek presses a finger slowly inside him, working gently.

“I think my ass is out of commission,” Stiles mumbles, but his dick begs to differ, chubbing up under Derek’s ministrations.

“My ass isn’t,” Derek whispers into his ear. “Is your dick ok?”

Stiles freezes.

“I’m suddenly feeling super revitalised,” Stiles announces, rolling onto his back.

Derek straddles his hips.

“Lube?” Stiles demands.

“Did it,” Derek places one hand on the headboard to steady himself and he grips Stiles’ dick with the other, sinking down.

“Ohmyjesus,” Stiles grits out, because Derek’s ass is like nirvana for his dick, all warm, wet and tight.

Derek rides him slowly, dragging it out and making the best little noises Stiles has ever heard, he commits every one to memory.

Stiles plants his feet when he realises Derek keeps edging himself, and he gives Derek something to push down into when he slams back up to meet him.

Derek cries out and picks up the pace, the sound of their skin meeting, loud in the dark room.

Stiles grips Derek’s ass and helps him ride his dick, his head catching on Derek’s hole over and over.

Stiles holds him open wide as Derek pitches forward and seals their mouths together, and he manages to press his index finger inside Derek’s furred hole on the next downstroke, right alongside his dick.

Derek tenses up, overwhelmed by the extra intrusion, then he comes immediately on a broken shudder between them, painting Stiles’ stomach, coming so hard some of it hits Stiles in the chin.

Stiles thrusts up desperately chasing him, supporting Derek’s weight because Stiles now has more than enough evidence to conclude that Derek turns to a boneless mess the second he comes.

Derek gets up and flops on his back, dragging Stiles with him.

“Don’t stop, want you to come in me,” Derek says and he sounds completely fucked out.

Who is Stiles to refuse a request like that?

He hooks Derek’s knees over his elbows and bends Derek’s legs back. Derek lets out a curious little grunt, probably not used to being manhandled.

Stiles stays on his knees when he pushes back inside him, dick angling down now.

He’s too desperate to be polite about it, plus it’s Derek’s fault for coming first.

Stiles fucks him hard, fingers digging in roughly where he’s pushing Derek’s knees up toward his torso. He notices that Derek’s dick has gallantly rejoined the party just as Stiles is about to come.

No you don't Stiles thinks, and never let it be said that he is a selfish lover.

“Derek, push your hips up,” Stiles growls. “Can you come again?”

“Fuck. I don’t know. Yeah. Maybe,” Derek complies, arching his dick up.

Stiles drops one of Derek’s legs, tucking in close to him and he uses some of that impressive flexibility he’d been rambling about earlier and he bends his torso, his dick still buried in Derek’s ass, and he takes tip of the Derek’s dick in his mouth sucking hard. Derek’s eyes go wide and he groans long and low.

Stiles feels Derek’s salty come dribble onto his tongue, dick pulsing and that’s what pushes him over the edge and Stiles grinds into him, coming on a groan, mouth still suckling on Derek’s dick.

Stiles lets him go and collapses down onto Derek for a change.

“No ones ever fucked me like that,” Derek mumbles.

“Good,” Stiles’ heart races as he tries to catch his breath. “Your turn to make the coffee.”

——————

They don’t make it back to Scott and Malia’s house.

——————

When they walk to Piccalo’s the next morning Stiles is pleasantly sore and he keeps trying to wipe the huge smile off his face, but he can’t.

He knows he looks like a grinny idiot, but he’s just so happy. He feels all gooey inside every time he thinks about how Derek didn’t let go of him once during the night, the snuggly wolf, or how Derek playfully kept smacking his butt while he made coffee this morning or how Derek followed him into the shower to “help him”, which turned into slow, lazy and perfect hand jobs under the warm spray, Derek kissing him the whole time.

Stiles sighs. Basically, he’s just blissfully happy every time he thinks of Derek. Period.

They walk into the diner hand in hand, he wouldn’t be able to hide it even if he wanted to, and he really doesn’t want to.

He spots the gang sans Lydia and Chris sitting around two tables that they’ve pushed together.

“BAH!” Henry screeches from a high chair. “Deh an Stuls!”

“Wow, good job kid,” Derek tickles his chin and takes a seat, Stiles snuggling in next to him.

Everyone is absorbed in noisy conversation, so much so, they barely notice Stiles and Derek joining them.

Stiles feels relaxed in a way he hasn’t in years, like he’s right where he should be.

“Hello Derek.” Scott growls ominously.

Oh dear.

Everyone is absorbed in noisy conversation apart from Scott, Stiles amends.

“Scott,” Derek smirks and he slings his arm around Stiles’ shoulder.

“Dad!” Stiles calls loudly to catch his father’s attention and hopefully distract from the “I saw him first” war that’s inevitably about to break out between Scott and Derek.

Stiles isn’t too concerned, Ali’s in Scott’s lap doing some colouring, so his best friend’s movement is limited.

“Oh hey boys,” John leans over the table and narrows his eyes at Stiles’ neck, tilting his head. “Nice hickey you have there Son. Derek, on a completely unrelated note, I need you to work on New year, I’ve got a mountain of filing for you to do.”

“I told you to wear a scarf,” Derek grumbles at Stiles, sinking into his chair, face red.

“Daddy, what’s a hickey?” Ali asks Scott.

“Ha!” Stiles barks.

“Ask Grandpa John baby,” Scott frowns at the Sheriff.

“Look Ali, more crayons,” The Sheriff tries, looking suitably contrite.

Ali gives John her best glare and he shuffles back in his seat looking alarmed.

“Yeah that’s not gonna work,” Stiles chuckles.

Derek slips his hand into his under the table, lacing their fingers together and when Stiles looks at him, Derek’s doing the Stiles special smile.

Stiles grins at him and squeezes his hand.

“I knew you liked me really,” Stiles whispers, lips grazing Derek’s ear.

“Yeah? Well the Siren I told you about yesterday, it wore your face when it tried to lure me. And I knew it wasn’t you straight away. It seemed. Dull. In comparison to, well, to you. So... yeah... there’s that...” Derek whispers back, then without missing a beat he spots the waitress and asks, “Excuse me, can I get some coffee for me and my boyfriend please?”

Stiles gets an actual face ache from smiling.

Best Christmas ever.

—————