#azurarainstuff

With a last look at the golden ornament, he steps down from the stool and with yet another groan bends to grab it and put it aside. His mate may have grown into his long limbs over the years but leaving anything out on the floor is just asking for him to trip over it; and Derek’s not about to have his hard work ruined by Stiles’ clumsiness – no matter how adorable he may find his flailing, not that Derek’s going to admit to that.

Slowly he walks out the room, carefully closing the sliding doors behind him, spends a few minutes doing the dishes and cleaning up a little, postponing the trip up the stairs and into the cold and empty bed. He keeps telling himself that it’s just for a few hours and soon he’ll be back to wishing Stiles would just leave him alone for five minutes; it doesn’t really work but there’s really nothing left to do and he is tired so he turns off the light and makes his way to the bathroom where he puts on the oversized t-shirt that still smells vaguely of Stiles (and hadn’t that been a sight, the shirt still loose on Derek’s expanding frame and his mate had been practically swimming in it), brushes his teeth before heading to the bedroom where he slips under the covers with his favorite book.

Derek wakes to the sun in his eyes and a glance at the clock tells him there’s only a few hours until Stiles gets home. Elated, he rolls out of the bed, stumbles into the bath and is showered and dressed in thirty minutes flat. He’s not as fast these days as he was just a few months ago, not to mention that there’s significantly more of him anyway. He waddles down the stairs into the kitchen where he turns on the oven to heat before taking the different cookie doughs out of the fridge.

Times passes in a blur of cutting, rolling, shaping, spooning dough onto the baking sheet, putting them in the oven and taking out the finished results, leaving them to cool off while refilling the baking sheet and then repeating the process over and over again. By the time the last batch is merrily baking away, Derek’s sweaty and hungry and debating whether he should eat lunch or simply take advantage of his hard work. The decision’s taken from him as a pair of arms snakes around his middle and a voice he hasn’t heard in two days whispers:

“Honey, I’m home.”

He turns in Stiles’ arms, his own coming up to wrap around him and then they just stand there, hugging each other tight while surrounded by the smell of cinnamon and burning cookies. Not that either of them particularly care, at least not until the smell becomes offensive enough to have him gagging and Stiles turns off the oven and disposes of the burnt cookies and Derek goes outside to sit on the porch.

It’s only a few minutes later when Stiles comes out with a jacket that he places on the table and two steaming mugs, one of which he hands Derek who smiles at the smell and sight of cocoa and marshmallows. They sit in companionable silence, Derek basking in the feel of contentment at having his mate home again, soaking up his scent and presence while slowly sipping his drink. They’re on their second cup when Stiles begins talking (and really Derek’s amazed he managed to keep quiet this long), tales of the conference he and the pack has just been at, all the people he met and how many of them had expressed regret that Derek hadn’t been able to attend, though once Stiles had explained why, they’d sent their well-wishes and congratulations. Derek takes it all in with a stunned surprise; he’d hoped that maybe one or two of the packs present would agree to form some sort of alliance, but Stiles has managed to bring back several invitations for negotiations as well as a few who’d be honored to come visit Hale-land once Derek’s up for it.

But soon it becomes too cold to sit outside so Derek stands and grabs Stiles’ wrist dragging him inside and up the stairs. Stiles goes willingly, knows Derek has missed his scent and bemoaned the fact that it has faded from their bed. They quickly shed almost every layer of clothing before getting under the covers, Stiles’ front against Derek’s back, their hands entwined on Derek’s protruding belly and they both breathe a little easier in the cocoon of them.

Gift shopping

Derek loathes Christmas shopping; there are too many people gathered in too little space, the smells are overwhelming (he was grateful he’d yet to have lunch while passing the perfume store as he’d otherwise have lost it right there. Not that dry heaving was that great an experience, but it was easier to hide), and if one more of these buffoons bump into him he’s most likely going to rip their throats out with his teeth. The thought has barely made it through his mind before there’s the calming presence of pack next to him, as Scott sidles up on his left and Erica to his right; it had been a surprise to everybody (especially Derek) when the younger man had – entirely unprompted by Stiles might he add – come knocking on his door shortly before leaving for college and apologized for everything that had gone down with the Argents. They’d talked – well, Scott had talked while Derek had grunted and listened – for nearly an hour and a close friendship had formed.

It was also the two betas who had dragged Derek to this hell hole and as such were responsible for his suffering, but right now he was willing to forgive them as he’d just seen the perfect thing to gift Stiles. Erica was already making her way to the store, Derek and Scott hot on her heels.

He doesn’t even think about it, just marches straight up to the sales clerk asking how soon they can deliver and when he’s assured it can be within two days Derek happily signs and pays before leaving the store again. He’s in such a good mood that he even refrains from flashing his eyes at the jerk who tells him to watch what he eats.

Getting home, he makes lasagna and while it’s in the oven Derek manages to fall asleep in the bath tub. It’s worth it though when he’s woken by Stiles nuzzling his ear and then standing there with Derek’s fluffy bathrobe. The lasagna may have had a few minutes too long but it’s still delicious and that’s really all that matters.

Afterwards Stiles does the dishes while Derek picks out the movie; feeling content and happy he picks one of the Star Wars movies, though he makes sure to pick the one with the longest run-time.

When Stiles sees the familiar yellow words he smiles knowingly but doesn’t offer any further comments, just simply turns and goes rummaging through the closet in the hall in search of a few blankets. He returns victorious and sits down, puts a blanket over his legs and places a pillow in his lap and when Derek lays down, he patiently waits for him to wiggle around until he’s lying comfortably before draping the other blanket over Derek’s body.

They’re barely half an hour into the movie, Derek’s warm and happy, there’s a mug of tea in front of him (most likely cold by now) and Stiles’ fingers are doing magical things to his scalp and his other hand is tracing mindless patterns on his stomach only pausing when there’s an occasional friendly kick to his palm. It’s peaceful and reminds him of different times; wordlessly he presses closer to Stiles, thankful when his mate tightens his arms around him but otherwise appears engrossed in what happens on the screen.

He’s gently shaken awake to the sound of the music playing during the end credits. Half asleep he gets to his feet and lets Stiles lead him to their bedroom, asleep once more before his head even hits the pillow. Derek has no recollection of it but he still knows that Stiles presses his lips first to Derek’s stomach then to his brow before laying down behind him. Stiles’ legs tangles with his own and his arms wraps around him, his face tucked against Derek’s nape. It’s how Derek wakes in the fuzzy almost light just before dawn, has him breathe a little easier from a nightmare already forgotten and lets him fall back asleep.

Getting the tree

There’s chill in the air when the whole pack gathers to go Christmas tree hunting. Derek has silenced every protest Stiles has made (which means he’d glared at his mate and informed him that either Derek was going or Stiles could find somewhere else to live), but has dutifully bundled up in the thermal jacket, the gloves, the scarves (one red, the other green) and the cap Erica had given him with the stupid tassel on top. Derek was slowly melting away and feeling decidedly uncomfortable but Stiles was still babbling worriedly about the drop in temperature and whether or not there would be ice on the road. Derek just rolled his eyes at the man and took the passenger seat of the Jeep.

It wasn’t the same baby blue monstrosity Stiles had been driving all those years ago, but rather a newer and safer model that Derek would never tell just exactly how much it had cost him, just said that it had been worth every penny and if Stiles was so against it he could go back to riding his bike. Stiles would usually stick out his tongue (way past 25 and he was a paragon of maturity) and hug Derek tight before making dinner.

It wasn’t often Stiles did, between his job, the pack and emissary duties, the clock often struck both six and seven before the door closed behind him, whereas Derek worked from home and would make the preparations when needing a break. So there was no way he wasn’t taking advantage of Stiles’ cooking when he could seeing as that meant he got to sit on a chair watching the silly little dances and listening to Stiles’ offkey singing. It was probably testament to just how far gone Derek was on the human that he didn’t even try to hide the smile at his mate’s antics.

They parked next to the rest of the pack and while Stiles was busy hugging his friends, Derek sneakily divested himself of some of the layers to prevent himself from getting heat stroke, quite a feat when it was barely 14 degrees outside, but somehow Stiles has managed to forget that werewolves run significantly hotter than humans, not to mention that the hormones were making it impossible for him to properly regulate his temperature and they’d been living with the windows opened for the past two weeks, much to Stiles’ dismay.

Once free of some of the offending garments (he kept the cap, gloves, and the green scarf as it was the lightest and the woolen poncho which he had no idea where his mate had gotten) he stepped out of the car and went to retrieve the ax and saw from the trunk. Then he made his way over to the pack, glared at Stiles as his mouth dropped open as if to say something and then wordlessly handed the tools to Boyd - Derek wasn’t about to go fell or carry a tree large enough to fit inside the house because he wasn’t an idiot - before hugging the pack tight and scent-marking them all.

When all the greetings were done with, Stiles grabbed his hand and they began the trek deeper into the tree farm.

They walked between the rows of trees, carefully looking over each one deemed tall enough; their cheeks red and their noses running and the two humans complaining about the wind, much to the amusement of everybody else.

And then he saw it, a majestic tree in a deep green color probably seven or eight feet tall. With a growl he caught Boyd’s attention who turned to follow his eyes and with a nod began the process of cutting it down. The others soon caught up and came over to help, wide smiles on their faces and excited yells when the tree finally toppled over. Boyd handed the tools to Allison before helping Erica and Scott carry it back to the cars where Jackson helped with securing it to the jeep and then they drove back home.

~

It’s Isaac who makes the hot chocolate that Derek’s drinking while the rest of the pack is having a snowball fight. It’s not that he doesn’t want to join, it’s just that the steam rising from the mugs had smelt heavenly and someone had decided to throw a tantrum that had miraculously stopped the instant he’d taken the first sip. The pack had been too busy trying to put snow down each others sweaters and Derek had made sure none of Isaac’s hard work had gone to waste.

He’s enjoying their laughter and loud shrieks though it’s tinged with the bittersweet memories of winters past. As if reading his mind there are suddenly cold lips pressed against his forehead, and Derek wraps his arms around Stiles’ legs pulling him awkwardly closer and nuzzling against his stomach.

The scent of Stiles and the strong pack bonds calms him, soothes the hurt enough that he can tip his head back and send his mate a smile. Soon after, they call it a day and head inside, getting mattresses, pillows and blankets for the lot of them, before pulling something up on Netflix and spending the rest of the evening in a puppy pile with Derek and Stiles in the middle.

Christmas dinner

It had been Derek’s idea to invite everybody to their house for Christmas dinner. Stiles had wanted to protest but one look at the alpha’s face and he’d sunk back into the couch, a soft look on his face and just let Derek do what he wanted. Of course, that was before the man had rearranged the furniture in the living room to not only make room for the stupid tree but also to vacuum every inch of the floor before apparently crawling around on it while washing it. When Derek had complained about his sore knees Stiles had made the mistake of suggesting that maybe he could do it instead; he’d found it in his best interest to make an impromptu visit with his dad.

In the end, the house had been cleaned from cellar to roof, the windows were sparkling and there was a pleasant but thankfully faint smell of lemon everywhere. Stiles had volunteered himself to change the beddings in every room - enough for each pack member to always have at least their own bed - and despite the fall out when he’d offered his help with the floor washing, this time Derek had accepted with a grateful smile and a quick peck to Stiles’ lips; Stiles had been humming happily for hours after.

With the cleaning out of the way they sat down to plan Christmas dinner, both making long lists of what they’d still need to get before being ready to feed eight werewolves, a banshee and five humans.

~

Derek drove while Stiles was sitting in the passenger seat fiddling with the radio. For a day in December, it was suspiciously devoid of anything remotely connected to Christmas so when the notes of “Jingle Bells” came through the loudspeaker he let go of the button and leaned back. Derek was scowling at the road ahead of them, inexplicably unhappy with that particular song even if he couldn’t stop his fingers tapping along to the rhythm. However, Stiles did not miss the relieved sigh as he parked the car and with a twist of the keys cut off the singer mid-chorus.

They got out of the car and went for one of the extra large carts, Stiles graciously letting Derek steer the damn thing (he would swear there was at least one person hired to make sure there was something wrong with at least one wheel on every cart, and he had one too many times been unable to push the cart after filling it halfway to even bother having an argument about strenuous activities that Derek would ignore anyway because he was “a werewolf, Stiles!”).

While Derek was pushing the cart down the aisles, meticulously ticking off items on his list whenever getting to the shelf with them, Stiles went left and right, looked at and touched everything, sometimes consulting the list but more often than not grabbing things seemingly at random before turning and making his way to wherever Derek had gotten. Then he’d place whichever item he brought with him in the cart before taking Derek’s hand following for a few steps before darting off again.

It drove Derek nuts, the lack of sticking to the agreed upon plan and the way Stiles got things in the wrong order, but he had long since learnt that this was Stiles’ way of shopping and there was no changing it, so rather than get annoyed, he’d pause in his tracks, shaking his head slightly, look after Stiles with a fond smile and then rearrange the contents of the cart for a more efficient usage of the space. Then he’d go in search of the next item on the list, awaiting his boyfriend’s return and the reassuring touches they’d share for the brief moments Stiles could persuade himself to stay still.

It’s more than an hour before they reach the checkout and by then Derek’s ears are ringing, his feet are swollen and he’s this close to flashing his eyes in the hopes that will get the line moving just a little faster. Luckily, Stiles sidles up to him at just the right time, presses close to his side and slings his arm around him, lazily rubbing at the foot shaped imprint on Derek’s side; he’s rewarded with a gentle kick that makes Derek turn his head and with a smile, nuzzle behind Stiles ear, letting his boyfriend’s presence calm him until he no longer wants to reach over and grab the poor cashier and rip his throat out with his teeth.

Getting everything into the car and then being surrounded by nothing but the scent of them and the sound of Stiles humming along to Christmas carols is enough to drive the last of the murderous thoughts away.

~

Stiles is singing along to the music coming from the loudspeaker, bobbing his head as his fingers are flying, sending potato peels all over the kitchen. Derek, on the other hand, is sitting perfectly still, bending slightly forward to make sure the peels end up in the garbage can, though about 99% of his attention is on Stiles.

They finished all the boring parts - peeling, chopping, doing dishes and other prep work - in companionable silence, except for Stiles’ singing that was sometimes quiet enough even Derek couldn’t hear it and at other times so loud he was glad they didn’t have any neighbors.

Soon though the kitchen and, to a lesser extent, the whole house fills with the smells of meat cooking and pies baking and suddenly there’s a plate being placed in front of him with enough sandwiches to feed a small army (or a werewolf) and Derek’s suddenly realizing how hungry he is, so with a grateful smile he starts eating.

A few hours later with the table set and the two of them freshly showered, the pack starts slowly trickling in. Each of them with their arms full of presents, candy, more food, soft drinks, wine and what seems like a million more things. Derek just tells them where to put everything before going back to the kitchen to carve the meat.

Dinner is loud, everybody’s talking and laughing and Derek basks in the warmth of pack and mate and the occasional kick to his side where Stiles’ hand is resting when he isn’t waving it around putting emphasis on whatever story he’s telling.

There are stories of Christmases past, tales of pranks pulled and silly gifts exchanged and Derek even finds himself laughing joyously at Peter retelling the story of how Laura had spoiled Santa Claus for Cora and how Talia had refused to ‘save’ her eldest from the wrath of what was essentially a tiny puppy wreaking havoc in her room. When the story ends, Derek catches Cora’s eyes across the table and they share a melancholy smile before being brought into different conversations. Stiles, ever perceptive, snakes his arm around Derek’s waist pulling him a little closer.

Eventually all the food is eaten and the rest has been cleared away, everything washed and dried and back in its place and they all make their way to the living room, finding their usual places. The lights on the tree are on and there’s a fire going in the fireplace, Erica’s crushing Stiles and Scott in Risk while Lydia and Boyd are discussing some obscure mathematical theory that Derek has never in his life heard about. Allison and Isaac are playing a card game he’s forgotten the name of and where the rules seem to change every time they play any way. Cora and Jackson have both gone outside where Derek can hear them sparring, Peter and Chris offering advice the two betas pretend to ignore. John and Melissa have gone to bed as both had been working all day to be able to have a few days off to spend with the rest of the pack.

It’s probably a few hours later when Stiles gently wakes him and hand in hand they go up the stairs, falling into bed together. The last thing Derek remembers is being surrounded by his mate and then there’s nothing.

Opening presents

Derek wakes at dawn. It has less to do with excitement and everything to do with his bladder currently being the stand-in for a soccer ball. He can’t claim to hate it too much though, not when he wakes to Stiles lying on his back, mouth hanging open and soft snores coming from him; the human may deny doing it but Derek thinks it’s adorable and if it hadn’t been for the urgency he’d spend minutes looking at him.

Quietly he slips out from under the covers, waddles to the en suite where he pees and then washes his hands and with a final look (and a smile, after all Derek is the biggest sap of them all) at the sleeping man, he makes his way down the stairs and into the kitchen.

He’s not particularly quiet, if the wolves haven’t learnt to sleep from the noises of someone making breakfast by now then Derek has no qualms waking them. First he makes the batter for pancakes before getting the bacon started; once the oven door slams closed behind the first batch, he gets the fruit - something Stiles had insisted on when Derek had refused to either serve turkey bacon or deny the sheriff as much as a single piece - and by now is seen as essential to the meal by the whole pack.

Derek peels the oranges and slice a few different melons but leaves the apples and bananas for when the others wake and are ready to eat, not wanting them to turn brown and look unappetizing. He puts a few different kinds of cheese on a plate, a few slices of pepper as decoration and then back in the refrigerator so as not to get too warm. There’s the low rustle of covers being pushed aside and feet across the floor alerting him to the fact that some of the pack are waking up and soon there’s the sound of steps down the stairs. He knows without looking that it’s Erica, puts down the knife and opens his arms anticipating the embrace she willingly partakes in.

A kick makes her let go with a laugh and she offers to lend him a hand but he just shakes his head and waves her off. Jackson’s the second one down, still not as free with physical affection as the rest of them so he sticks to a slap to Derek’s shoulder; in retaliation Derek grabs him and puts him in a headlock, dragging his knuckles across Jackson’s scalp messing up his hair. The beta ducks his head trying to hide his pleased smile as he takes his seat next to Erica.

Before long there are only two empty chairs at the table, Derek flipping pancakes like he’s getting paid to do it. There’s a crash from upstairs and Stiles’ drowsy “everything’s fine” followed by a string of curses before the sounds of him moving are getting closer.

With the whole pack present Derek takes the plates stacked high with pancakes and puts them on the table only to turn and almost topple Stiles over. His hair’s sticking out left and right, there are lines on his face from the pillowcase and a faint trace of drool on one of his cheeks. He’s wearing his Batman-pyjamas and one sock, his eyes half closed as he’s not entirely awake yet and his nostrils are flaring at the smell of coffee and food. Still he bends enough to nuzzle against Derek’s stomach whispering a quiet “good morning” before finding his own seat.

Once Derek has filled his own and Stiles’ plates, the rest of the pack falls upon the food as ravenously as… well, as wolves. Breakfast isn’t quite as loud an affair as dinner had been, everybody eager to eat as fast as possible to get to the important part of the morning: The opening of their Christmas presents. Soon most of the food is gone, cups and glasses emptied too and they all lean back in their chairs with groans and a chorus of “thank you for the food.”

But not even their filled stomachs are enough to deprive them of gifts and soon they’re all getting to their feet, making their way to the living room, abandoning the mess behind as if by silent agreement deciding to leave it for later.

Derek takes his favorite spot on the couch with Stiles sliding in next to him and soon they’ve managed to manoeuvre themselves so that Derek’s sitting in the vee of Stiles’ legs with Stiles’ arms around him, his hands resting on his distended belly and Derek’s hands on top of them. Together they watch the pack distributing presents left and right, the ones for Derek and Stiles ending up on the couch with the two of them.

When all the gifts are removed from where they lay under the tree, everybody starts tearing up the paper, the room filled with appreciative ‘oooh’s and ‘ah’s and every other variation thereof.

When everything’s revealed and while the wrapping paper is being dealt with, Derek watches Chris and Erica sneaking out. The room’s suspiciously silent when they return with something large between them that they put down on the floor. It takes a little effort but Derek manages to untangle himself from Stiles’ legs and turning to him with an expectant look on his face.

“It’s for you,” he says, chuckling when Stiles scrambles to get up and with an eagerness usually reserved for two-year-olds, starts ripping off the paper. Once it’s all off, he takes a step back before turning with a look of awe in his eyes.

“Is that--?” he begins and when Derek nods he breaks into a smile so wide Derek thinks he should be blinded by it.

“You!” Stiles laughs, a little disbelieving, a lot happy. “I can’t believe you actually got our kid a Millennium Falcon cradle. You huge dork.”

Derek smiles because Stiles is the one who painted Endor’s forest on one of the walls in the nursery, is the one who filled it with wolves that Derek would recognize anywhere (Peter and Cora the ones who’d helped him get the colors and personalities right) and Stiles is the one who’d hung a mobile over the changing table with the little Leia, Luke, Han and Chewbacca action figures dangling from it.

They spend the rest of the day cuddled close on the couch surrounded by their pack, with hot chocolate to warm their stomachs and stories filled with life and laughter to warm their hearts.