#dww2013

-

Derek only needs to follow Stiles' directions halfway before the loud music is enough to lead him to the house at the end of the block that is hosting the party. (They were crappy directions anyway; typos and misspellings everywhere. Derek is pretty sure Stiles has had enough to drink for the night.) He's not even sure whose house it is. All he knows is that some kid from school decided to throw a New Year's party and did not only invite Lydia this time, but the whole pack.

It may have something to do with the school dance right before Christmas.

That theory proves to be right when he goes to ringing the doorbell, expecting to have to explain himself and what he's doing there, but the guy who opens the door just beams at him and invites him in, calling him "Stilinski's man" when introducing him to the rest of the room who cheers. Derek blushes and goes to seek out Stiles.

He's barely made it to the second room before Isaac appears, shamelessly throwing himself at him and give him a big hug. Derek let's a chuckle slip out of him as he returns the embrace, patting Isaac on the back like he had when Isaac had thanked him for the backpack on Christmas Day in a similar fashion. It's only been a week, but it feels like ages ago.

If the people around them had been sober they probably would've found the way Isaac sniffed Derek's shoulder as he pulled back just a little bit weird. Fortunately that isn't the case, and the only one noticing is Derek himself. He cocks an eyebrow at him, and Isaac flushes and rubs the back of his neck.

"You smell like Cora," he hurries to explain himself.

Derek smiles. "She could pick up your stench on me too."

Scott appears just as Isaac ducks his head to laugh. Both of them look perfectly sober, which is a relief to Derek. He'd been worried they had started experimenting with wolfs bane just to get wasted, but they seem perfectly happy without it.

"Thank god you're here," Scott says. "Stiles started to think you wouldn't make it in time."

"I know," Derek assures, rolling his eyes. "He's been texting me for the last two hours. Where is he?"

"Upstairs," Isaac says, grinning. "Watch out. He gets very lovable when he's drunk."

"I'm aware," Derek reminds him, smirking.

"Right," Scott scoffs.

The pair retreats to whatever corner of the packed floor they came from, and Derek goes to look for the stairs. He shuts out the way-too-loud music in his ears and focuses on finding Stiles' heartbeat among the dozens others in the house. Seriously, how do they all fit in here? They're practically lining up the walls. People are dancing and drinking and laughing and kissing and grinding everywhere and it makes Derek really eager to find Stiles.

Stiles is sitting on a couch squeezed in between two girls when Derek spots him. He doesn't notice Derek right away, just like he didn't notice him first entering the house like the wolf boys had. Derek's heart flutters when seeing he's wearing Derek's leather jacket, which looks really good on him. Derek crosses the room swiftly, approaching the couch with his eyes fixed on Stiles. When he finally looks up to notice him, his eyes widen as they meet Derek's.

"Derek!" He exclaims.

A big smile lights up his face, and Derek feels his heart swell in his chest at the sight. Stiles smells of happiness and love and it makes Derek want to purr like a freaking kitten. He takes the two last remaining steps forward, expecting Stiles to stand up once he stops in front of the couch – because he looks like he's about to – but then he just leans forward and wraps his arms around Derek's waist, pressing his face against Derek's stomach while still seated on the sofa.

"You're here," he says, nuzzling into Derek's hip. "I was just about to ask Greenberg to be my New Year kiss."

Derek chuckles, too busy appreciating Stiles' warm hold around him to feel embarrassed about the awkward greeting his drunk boyfriend is giving him. The teenagers surrounding them don't seem to care much for them anyway. Derek runs a hand through Stiles' hair before settling it on the back of his neck.

"Haven't seen this in a while," he mumbles, fumbling on the collar or his leather jacket. It's the first time he's seen it since Stiles stole it after one of their rehearsals and damn that really feels like ages ago. "No longer afraid I'll take it off you?"

"That's what I'm hoping for," Stiles replies simply, voice muffled into Derek's shirt.

A snort slips out of Derek before he can stop it, and he drops his own hand to squeeze Stiles' bicep. He tugs gently in an attempt to help Stiles stand up, and the boy only groans in protest for a second before letting himself be pulled up to his feet.

Once they're at the same eye-level, Derek reach out to cup his cheek. Stiles is smiling, eyes drifting a little over Derek's face when he leans into the touch.

"You're kind of adorable when you're drunk," Derek remarks, smile tugging at his lips.

Stiles huffs, and Derek can feel the heat rising to his cheeks under his palm. "Shut up." He drops his gaze, ducking his head as he swallows. "I didn't mean to be," he mumbles. "I want— I want to remember."

Derek tilts Stiles' head back up to let their eyes lock again. "You'll remember," he says reassuringly. He glances around them, spotting a glass door to a balcony. "Come on," he urges, sliding his hand into Stiles' and pulls him over there. "Let's get you some fresh air."

The balcony is small, but it's empty and therefore more than enough for two people who don't mind sharing the same space. It's got a roof and is thankfully clean from snow, but the furniture must've been stored for the winter so there's nothing to sit on.

"It's cold," Stiles says, sucking in a breath and shudders where he's standing.

"At least you can feel the temperature this time," Derek points out, smiling softly as he steps up behind Stiles and wraps his arms around his middle. He presses his front against Stiles' back, locking their bodies together all the way from their ankles to their necks, resting his chin on Stiles' shoulder. "Better?"

Stiles hums, leaning back against him. His hands comes to rest on top of Derek's on his belly.

"A lot."

Derek grins into Stiles' neck, inhaling a deep breath and gets his nose full of Stiles.

They stand like that in silence for a while, just leaning against one another and sharing body heat in the chilly night air. The house is still vibrating with music and chatter but it all turns into a distant blur with the balcony door closed.

"How's Cora?" Stiles asks after a while.

"Good," Derek says, sliding his nose up to the spot behind Stiles' ear. "Pretty sure she's gone for one of the wolf boys. Not that she'd tell me."

Stiles huffs, shuddering a little when Derek's hot breath curls over his sensitive skin.

"Missed you," he sighs then. "You're not allowed to leave again anytime soon."

"It was only for a few days, Stiles," Derek rumbles, closing his eyes tightening the hold around Stiles.

"I know," Stiles whispers. "Still. I even had to run the other night just to be able to sleep."

"Are the nightmares back?" Derek asks, eyes snapping open as he immediately feels bad about leaving.

"No," Stiles assures him quickly, shaking his head. "I just… missed you."

He shrugs lightly, as if trying to brush off the heavy meaning behind it. Derek hums happily, heart pounding with affection as he presses a simple kiss right below the boy's hairline.

"I missed you too," he admits.

Apparently being away from three days to meet up with Cora had been too much for both of them. It's ridiculous. Cora had noticed how unsettled he was and asked what the hell was up with him. He'd played dumb at first, but in the end told her everything that happened since they parted ways.

"You planning on making any confessions tonight?" He asks in murmur.

"Should I?" Stiles wonders.

"Well, you tend to do that when you're intoxicated," Derek remarks with a smirk.

"Won't happen again," Stiles assures.

"I'm kind of glad it did though," Derek says thoughtfully.

"Because we're idiots."

Derek chuckles. "Yes, because we're idiots."

"Idiots who probably would still be dancing around each other tonight if I hadn't let my mouth run," Stiles continues.

"Yeah," Derek agrees, grinning into Stiles' warm skin. "No more dancing."

"Thank god," Stiles sighs. "At least not until our wedding day."

"W-what?" Derek stutters.

"What?" Stiles repeats.

And of course – because their story isn't enough like a movie already – that's the exact moment Scott pulls the door open.

"Guys, the ball's about to drop!" He informs.

Derek sighs, already hearing the people inside starting to count down. He drops his arms from Stiles and takes one step back.

"Give us a minute."

"It'll kind of be too late by then," Scott points out with a sly smile.

"Just— We'll be there in bit," Derek says, impatiently waving his hand at Scott to get lost.

Scott scoffs but disappears back inside.

Turning back to Stiles, Derek can tell he's sobered up a bit. His eyes are still a bit glazed but steadier than before. Derek exhales through his nose and steps up to him again, placing one hand to his waist. Stiles wraps one hand around his bicep in return almost mechanically, because touching each other comes naturally these days, even if they've only been together for little more than a week. Derek loves it.

"You don't wanna see the ball drop?" Stiles asks, his breath curling over Derek's face when he speaks.

"I've seen it," Derek replies with a shrug. "Live, even. Laura dragged me down to Times Square one year."

Stiles grins. "I can only imagine what a nightmare that must've been for you. So many people!"

Derek huffs, tightening his grip on the leather covering Stiles' hip.

"I don't mind people. Well," he adds at Stiles cocked eyebrow, "not anymore."

"Yeah, I've noticed," Stiles says, smiling. "You kissed me for the first time in a room full of people."

"And I'd do it again," Derek shrugs.

"So why don't you?"

Derek pulls him in just a little closer to rest his forehead against Stiles'. He can hear how Stiles' heartbeat speeds up in excitement, and his own doing the exact same thing. The sound of them throbbing together makes him hum. Damn, he's missed that sound. He's missed everything about Stiles, and just the thought of going away again – even if just for a day or two – feels wrong.

"Maybe I wanted you for myself this time," he murmurs.

Stiles hums, eyes falling to Derek's mouth. "I've never had a New Year's kiss," he mumbles.

"Me neither," Derek says.

"You'll be my first everything," Stiles says further, then he looks thoughtful for a second. "And last."

Derek's heart flutters. "Likewise."

The people's countdown inside is getting louder when passing twenty, and Derek reach up to place his other hand on Stiles' cheek. They're both smiling, almost ridiculously so, but Derek wouldn't want it any other way. Stiles clutches at his shoulder a little more, other hand settling on Derek's hip where he hooks his thumb in one of the belt loops. His eagerness makes Derek's wolf nearly shudder in delight.

"Ten… nine… eight… seven…"

"I'm staying at your place tonight," Stiles says, gaze still on Derek's lips.

Derek huffs. "I wasn't aware there was another option, to be honest."

Stiles chuckles, bumping their noses together. "This year is gonna be awesome," he rumbles.

"Three… two… one…"

-

Snow is falling when the sun rises.

Stiles can't remember the last time he saw a sunrise as beautiful as this. He watches as the sun travels higher on the orange sky, above the purple clouds, and warmly lands on his face through the big windows. He's sitting up in bed, and with the sheets only covering his feet he would've been freezing if it wasn't for the space heater still sleeping next to him.

Derek is scowling in his sleep, and Stiles can't help but to smile to himself at how silly and adorable it is. He half-expects the guy to start growling and kicking with his feet like a sleeping dog, and Derek would probably call him ridiculous if he ever told him that. Which he might, because he kind of likes when Derek calls him ridiculous, because it sounds like three completely different words.

It takes a while for him to wake up properly, slowly drifting out of sleep and into the world of the living. He rolls onto his back, sighing heavily and stretching. He drags his sleeve across his face before blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Stiles waits patiently, watching him with a soft smile playing on his lips. Once Derek's gaze focuses on him, his eyes widens.

"You're up already?" He rumbles, voice thick. Stiles would only find it sweet if it hadn't been for the unexpected hint of worry in there. Derek pops himself up on his elbows, as if to just get the tiniest bit closer to him. "Did you sleep bad?" He asks. "Did you have another nightmare?"

Suddenly Derek's worry makes sense, and Stiles feels a warmth clench around his heart by just how Derek cares. He shakes his head, still smiling effortlessly down at him.

"No, I was just watching you," he says, reaching out to trace Derek's eyebrow with his thumb. "Did you know you wear your grumpy face in your sleep? Did you have a dream? Were you chasing a rabbit?"

Derek huffs, craning his neck to brush Stiles' finger off his face, but there's nothing harsh in it.

"Don't remember," he sighs leaning back to lay down again. One of his hands absently slides up Stiles' side and settles with his fingers resting in the ups and downs of his ribs. "It's probably just what my face looks like," he defends.

"I like your face," Stiles says, moving his own hand to Derek's stomach. He can feel muscles tensing and reacting beneath his fingertips, and it brings back vivid memories from last night that makes him go hot. "Even if I'm becoming greatly familiar with beard-burn."

"I could shave," Derek suggests casually, stroking the skin under his fingers.

"And go back to your teenager-look?" Stiles asks, cocking an eyebrow. "It was cute, but no." He slides his hand all the way up to Derek's chest, leaning forward, not stopping until his palm is resting over the werewolf's fast beating heart. "I kind of love your scruff," he smiles, hovering above him.

Derek sucks in a breath, gazing up at him.

"I kind of love you."

Stiles shouldn't be surprised, because the look in Derek's eyes whenever their eyes met over the last few days should've been proof enough, but he still stops. He can feel the skip of the heart beneath his hand, and he's pretty sure he's never seen Derek look so exposed before. Even last night, when he'd been under Stiles without a single layer of clothing to cover him up, he hadn't looked this vulnerable. But Stiles figures it's not very strange after all. Derek is not ashamed of his body – he's got no reason to – and taking his clothes off is most likely not even the slightest challenge to him. But opening up to someone, to actually use words – that's probably a pretty big deal, considering his past trust issues.

"Yeah?" Stiles can't help but ask, just wanting to hear it being confirmed again.

"Yeah," Derek says, swallowing, and Stiles watches his Adam's apple bob. "I think I have for a long time now," he continues, and Stiles holds his breath, not wanting to interrupt. "It just took me a while to figure it out."

A short silence falls between them, but Stiles can bet his pounding heart is rather loud in Derek's ears.

"Silver Linings Playbook," he mumbles after a while.

Derek frowns, tilting his head to the side on the pillow. "What?"

"You practically quoted 'Silver Linings Playbook'," Stiles explains with a grin.

"I didn't know," Derek says lowly, as if that's a bad thing.

"Hey, no, that's okay," Stiles hurries to assure, shifting to sit on his knees next to Derek instead. "You should know that quoting good movies when trying to be romantic is not a minus when it comes to me. More like a big plus, actually."

Derek huffs and smiles, sighing softly when reaching up with one hand to slide through Stiles' hair.

"I wasn't trying to be romantic," he states. "I was just being honest."

Stiles smiles back, incapable of doing anything else. Derek's smile is fucking contagious.

"Well, in that case: I hope you'll keep being honest with me."

"I plan to be," Derek replies.

Stiles' heart flutters, and for a second he feels like he's about to burst with all the emotions inside him. If someone had told him at the beginning of this month that he'd wake up in bed with Derek Hale on Christmas Day, he would've laughed madly into their face. It's a strange and overwhelming feeling: to actually have something you never thought you would.

He can't say when he first fell in love with Derek, but he knows it happened.

"I love you," he says out loud, and he doesn't mean to grin like an idiot but he really can't help it.

Derek laughs, all smooth and happy, and the next second Stiles is being pulled down by the firm hand on the back of his neck and Derek is kissing him. It's the best kiss Stiles has ever had, including all the ones from last night, because this is so pure and honest. He sighs into it, sending a vibration down Derek's throat. The werewolf groans in response. It may even be a growl, but Stiles barely bothers with the difference nowadays. Whatever noises Derek makes when they're kissing: he loves all of them.

Stiles yelps when the room spins, and the next second he's staring at the ceiling on his back. Derek is on top of him, standing on his knees and elbow on each side of Stiles' body. He kisses Stiles again, and this time Stiles moans. His body is already hot, burning like a furnace just like every time Derek touches him. When Derek breaks off the kiss to instead drag his nose along his jaw and down to his throat, inhaling deeply, Stiles can't help but chuckle as he loops both arms around Derek's neck.

"Does my hoodie still smells like me?"

"No," Derek murmurs against his skin, placing soft kisses over the vein in Stiles' neck. "You can have it back."

"You could get another one," Stiles offers, breath catching a little at the feel of Derek's hot and wet tongue on his skin.

"Or I'll just keep you here," Derek suggests, moving back up to kiss the corner of Stiles' mouth.

Stiles can feel his face flush, but it's not by embarrassment as much as sheer joy. He grasps the hair in the back of Derek's neck to make him groan, and the body above him lowers to press down on him.

"I actually got a present for you," he says before capturing Derek's mouth in a quick kiss again. "It's at home though, because I was too busy just bringing myself here last night to remember taking it with me."

Derek chuckles against his lips, pushing his hips down and dragging a moan from both of them.

"What is it?" He asks, practically panting in Stiles' face.

"Well, I was gonna give your leather jacket back," Stiles says, equally out of breath. "But then I found something better, and I also kinda wanna keep it because it smells like you." Derek lifts his head up to frown at him, and Stiles can read the silent remark that he's not able to pick up on scents. "Like leather," Stiles clarifies with a light eye roll.

Derek hums, going back to the kissing. He starts to roll his hips, and Stiles gasps into Derek's open mouth at the sparks shooting up his spine. It hits him just how much they have left to do; even if last night was kind of an all-the-way thing, there's still so much he wants to do with Derek. Well, everything.

"So what did you find instead?" Derek wonders, moving down to nip at Stiles' jaw, still with his hips moving.

Stiles doesn't reply right away, too busy moaning and finding the rhythm to rock his own hips with Derek's.

"A coffee mug," he pants out. "That says 'I hope your day is as nice as your butt'."

Derek scoffs and ducks his head down to laugh into the curve of Stiles' throat. It's a wonderful sound, and somehow it only makes Stiles' blood rush south even quicker.

"How did you know? You didn't see my butt until last night," Derek points out, his hot breath ghosting over Stiles' pulse.

"Dude," Stiles breathes. "With those jeans, it didn't exactly leave much to my imagination." Derek huffs, as if that's a good point, and Stiles is pretty sure he can feel his face heating up a little. "I figured it'd cure your grumpiness in the mornings if you had a coffee mug to smile about," he explains further, pausing to moan when Derek thrusts down to rub their hard groins together. "Also you didn't really give me much of a Christmas list to go on," he accuses.

At that Derek pulls back his head, stilling his hips for a moment. Stiles groans at the loss of friction, but looks up to meet Derek's gaze. His pupils are blown, his forehead just starting to get damp with sweat.

"As soon as I got you I forgot about being able to want anything else," he says, and Stiles' swallows at the honesty in his voice. Derek bumps their noses together, smiling. "And you'll be enough reason for me to smile in the morning."

Stiles is quite certain he'll never take this for granted; the way the butterflies dance in his stomach when hearing Derek talk as if he's the best thing that's ever happened to him. The best thing that could happen to him. Stiles is used to being rejected; to be the outcast and watch others from afar. Derek makes him feel wanted, desired, and loved in ways he never thought was possible for anyone. Least of all himself.

"You got me," he promises, and it's barely a whisper. "You got me for as long as you'll want me."

Derek whimpers, like it's shaking him to the core, and then he's claiming Stiles' lips with his own again.

-

Stiles comes downstairs Christmas Eve morning to find his dad and Derek sitting by the kitchen table. He freezes in the doorway, cold panic washing over him in a sharp heartbeat because this surely means trouble. Derek cranes his neck to look at him over his shoulder before the sheriff even notices he's there. It's his scent, Stiles realizes, and maybe also the sound of his racing heart.

"What's going on?" He asks warily despite his mind going: this is it, the gun will be drawn and shots fired.

"Breakfast," his dad replies, gesturing to the table while giving him a look as if he's being silly.

That doesn't really help much. Derek offers him a small smile, and at least that's comforting enough for Stiles to let out the breath he's been holding and enter the room. He looks curiously between the two, but both of them act like nothing is off. It is though, because Derek Hale is having breakfast in the sheriff's kitchen. Not that Stiles is complaining about his father and boyfriend being in the same room without both looking like they wish to bolt, but there's something seriously odd about that.

He heads for his usual seat, which is the chair next to Derek's, and he can't help but slide his fingertips over Derek's shoulders as he passes by. It's meant to be comforting, even if he doesn't seem to need it as much as yesterday, and Stiles catches the twitch in the corner of Derek's mouth as he sits down.

"I just invited Derek to join us for dinner this evening," his father explains.

"Really?" Stiles asks, because that sounds just a little too good to be true. "Christmas dinner?"

"Unless you mind?" His dad wonders, raising his eyebrows.

"No," Stiles hurries to say, looking at Derek who looks worried for a second. "No," he repeats, sneaking one hand under the table to grab Derek's while meeting his gaze firmly. "That's— I'd love that."

Derek smiles, looking relived as if he hadn't been sure Stiles would approve.

"Great," the sheriff agrees gleefully. "Derek, could you pass me the bread?"

Stiles feels Derek's fingers twitch as if he's about to let go of his hand to oblige, but then he reaches for the bread with his other hand instead, only squeezing Stiles' hand even tighter.

    "Did he call you? Does he even have your number? Did you come to see me? How did this even happen?"

Derek just chuckles, shaking his head at all his suggestions. He stops when they reach the front door, and sighs as he properly turns to Stiles.

"If I'd come for you, I would've come through your window," he reminds him, cupping one side of Stiles' face.

That just confuses Stiles further, and if it had been a more serious matter he probably would've slapped Derek's hand away and demand a straight answer, but it isn't. Everything is fine after all, so he actually manages to let it go; just rolls his eyes softly and sighs while leaning into Derek's touch. He puts his own hand on top of Derek's, feeling his hard knuckles against his palm. Derek's smile grows wider, and for a second Stiles thinks he'll be perfectly happy watching this man smile for the rest of his life.

"I'm gonna ask dad to let you spend the night," Stiles mumbles.

Derek hums, brushing his thumb to the corner of Stiles' mouth. His pupils are blown under his half-closed eyelids, and Stiles feels a warmth spread inside his chest just by seeing how he's affecting Derek. It's still mind-blowing, and he doubts it'll ever stop to be. Despite the window in his bedroom still being able to open, they haven't spent the night together since after the dance. Stiles has offered, of course, but Derek has insisted that they shouldn't sneak behind the sheriff's back like that. Thankfully it doesn't seem like Stiles' nightmares care whether they're actually together during the night or not because they haven't returned for over a week now.

"You do that," Derek agrees in a murmur, lifting his eyes from Stiles' mouth to meet his gaze.

Stiles is the one stepping forward to claim Derek's lips in a longing kiss, hard enough for their teeth to clash. It's clear that Stiles isn't the only one who's wanted to do this since he first entered the kitchen. One day they should probably try and kiss in front of his dad, because it's bound to happen sooner or later anyway, but not today. At least not this morning, and Stiles figures that's okay. They've got time.

It's with a soft groan Derek pulls away, one that indicates he doesn't want to but still has to. Stiles doesn't chase him, just rests his forehead on Derek's for a moment before stepping back. Derek's lips are bruised, and Stiles' can't hold back a proud smile upon seeing it.

"See you later then," Derek sighs, thumb brushing over Stiles' cheek one last time before actually letting him go to leave.

    Stiles can't say when or how exactly it became a tradition, but Melissa and Scott have joined them on Christmas Eve every year for several years now. He's not even sure they got an invitation; they just show up later that afternoon.

Isaac is with them, of course, but this time he doesn't look as unsure whether he's welcomed or not. Still, just to make sure he's got the memo, Stiles gives him a big hug right after he's done the same to Scott. Isaac doesn't seem to mind, cheeks going as red as Scott's ridiculous Santa sweater for a brief second.

Derek arrives looking far more calm than he's ever looked by their front door. He's wearing one of his loose sweaters, and Stiles decides it's sort of become his new favorite thing. While Derek still is walking sex that Stiles wants to jump about 85% of the time, he also wants to nuzzle into the soft fabric and just feel cooped up in Derek's heat.

He probably makes the embrace Derek greets him with last a little longer than necessary, but Derek isn't complaining. In fact; he smiles against Stiles' cheek and only looks amused once the arms around him finally let him go to greet the others.

    Melissa wasn't lying when saying Stiles eats like a wolf, because he does.

Obviously Stiles and his dad didn't do it all; the McCalls contributed nearly half of it. It's delicious, and Stiles can't be bothered by the two adults shaking their heads at him. It's not like it's news to them: he gets stuffed every year.

"Jesus, leave some for the rest of us, would ya?" Scott complains, but he's grinning.

Stiles makes a face at him, not pausing from chewing on his sausages.

"You're gross," Isaac comments, then throwing Derek a glance. "I can't believe you're kissing that."

"Rude," Stiles says once he's swallowed. "I'm perfectly civilized."

"Well, enough," Derek says with a smirk, and everyone around the table chuckles.

Stiles tries to glare at him, but it's impossible when his stupid face is so bright and beautiful.

A knock on the door has everyone pause and look up.(causes everyone to pause and look up.)

"I'll get it," Stiles volunteers, hand slipping off Derek's knee under the table as he stands up.

Derek hums lowly, which could've been just a simple acknowledgement to his announcement, but Stiles is pretty sure it's the sound of disappointment. He can't stop smiling to himself all the way through the hallway to the front door.

He's a little surprised when opening it to find Allison and Chris Argent standing on their porch.

"Who is it?" His dad calls from the kitchen.

Stiles hesitates. "Santa Claus."

Allison chuckles, and Christ reaches up to rub his chin with an amused look.

"I think I'll have to grow some facial hair before passing for Santa," he remarks.

The next second Derek is there, warm and solid by Stiles' side. Chris’ smile falters, and Stiles feels himself swallow hard down his throat. Oh boy. Because despite the two of them fighting alongside each other on more than one occasion during the past year, the relationship between Derek and Chris Argent is still a complicated one, to say the least. Stiles is pretty sure it doesn't have to be though. They may be natural enemies because of what they are, but when it comes down to it; they are both just remains of two broken families they're still desperately trying to protect. The black sheep are to blame, and that's neither of them.

"Derek," Chris greets, but Derek doesn't respond. The hunter lifts his hands in a peaceful manner. "I'm not wearing my gun," he informs, "and you’ve still got your claws, so you've got me at a disadvantage." Derek's arm flexes, so little it probably goes unnoticed by everyone but Stiles who's pressed up against his side, and for a moment Stiles thinks he's going to draw his claws out. "But it's Christmas," Chris continues calmly, "so I'd be happy not to see them anywhere near me anytime soon."

That seems to make Derek relax a little, but he still doesn't look like he's going to move anytime soon. Stiles hears steps approaching as more people join them by the door. He doesn't look over his shoulder to see who exactly, but judging by Allison's small smile Scott or Isaac is probably one of them.

"I'm not here for you, Derek," Chris assures. "Or your mate."

Stiles' jaw drops. "Your—"

"You just knocked on his door," Derek points out sharply.

"We're not here to stay," Allison cuts in, drawing everyone's attention to her rather than her father. She waves with the bag in her hand. "I'm just dropping by to give Scott and Isaac their presents."

"Bad idea," Melissa says somewhere behind Stiles. "You know they'll open them before tomorrow."

"So little faith," Scott mutters.

The tension eases up a little at that, some of them chuckling in an attempt to lighten up the mood. Stiles glances over to Derek who's still got his eyes on Chris, but doesn't look like he's about to attack anymore. Gently Stiles pulls at his arm, and Derek immediately takes his eyes off the hunter to meet his gaze. His face goes soft the second their eyes lock, and Stiles manage to drag him away from the door and back into the house while Scott and Isaac accepts the gifts from their girlfriend.

Stiles throws a glance over his shoulder and catches Chris giving him a small nod before he looks away, heart throbbing at the man's choice of words.

    About one hour later, when they've finished dinner and Melissa has shooed them out of the kitchen, the good mood is back. The Argents are gone, leaving two presents behind that Scott and Isaac have added to the pile under the tree. Isaac offers to help with the dishes, but Melissa refuses and orders him to go play video games in the living room. It's something Scott and Stiles do every year, and they're more than happy to introduce more people to the tradition of Mario Cart.

Derek slides up behind Stiles in the middle of one of his races with Isaac, wrapping one arm around him and leans in to rest his chin on his shoulder. Stiles' lips pull up in a smirk but he doesn't lose control of his car. Well, not until a few moments later. Isaac cheers in delight.

"You did that on purpose," Derek whispers into his ear, and the only reason Isaac doesn't hear him is because he's too busy high-fiving Scott.

Stiles shrugs. Maybe he did. Beginner's luck is an awesome feeling, after all.

Derek huffs, nosing Stiles' cheek for a second before scraping his stubble against it. His hand comes to rest on Stiles' chest, right above his heart, which starts throbbing against his palm. Stiles sighs, lowering the controller on his thigh as Scott seems to be coaching Isaac while pointing at the different buttons on the controller. Usually Stiles would be bouncing in his seat by now, impatient and eager to start the next race, but now he doesn't mind waiting.

He sinks back into the couch and Derek's warmth, tilting his head back just a little to rest the back of his head on Derek's shoulder. Derek's heart is pounding against his shoulder blades, and Stiles doubt he'll ever get used to the fact that he's able to speed up the werewolf's heartbeat this way.

Stiles' breath catches when Derek suddenly reaches down with his other hand to slide on his thigh, because they still haven't done much of those kind of touches. It's not that he's upset Derek has made them take things slow – he understands why it's important to him – but naturally his heart jolts in hopeful excitement at this.

"Derek, we're not exactly alone," Stiles reminds him half-heartedly.

"Not yet," Derek murmurs into the corner of his mouth. When Stiles frowns in question, he only huffs, pulling back enough for their eyes to meet properly as Stiles cranes his neck. "I kind of asked your dad if you could spend the night at my place," he confesses.

Stiles stares. "That's why you were here this morning," he realizes.

Derek nods. "I just— I wanna be with you tonight," he goes on, voice so deep it's giving Stiles goose-bumps. "But not without your dad's consent." Then he gets something in his eyes. "But we don't have to—"

"Yes," Stiles cuts him off, not wanting Derek to doubt it for a second that this is what he wants.

Derek lets out a heavy puff of air, as if he'd been holding his breath. "Okay," he says.

"Okay," Stiles agrees, dropping the controller on the couch. "Now?"

"Now," Derek confirms, and the want in his voice nearly makes Stiles' knees give in as he stands.

    -

    They're out of the car for approximately three seconds when it starts. It's the quick brush of Stiles' hand against the small of Derek's back as they hike up the steps to the entrance. He lets out a huff of surprised air as electricity arcs across his nerves.

"What the hell was my dad thinking agreeing to this?" He asks, to no one in particular.

Derek pulls out his key and unlocks the door, extremely aware of the fact that Stiles' hand is still pressed warmly into the small of his back, rubbing a small, absentminded circle into the skin.

"I don't know," he breathes, pulling open the door. "You wanna go back and ask him?"

Stiles snorts as Derek opens the door, already out of breath. "Do you?"

"I'm good," he answers, as Stiles slips his hand up underneath the hem of his shirt. His palm is on fire, and Derek can feel the frantic beat of his heart through the contact. He chuckles. "You nervous or something?" He asks, as they head for the freight elevator.

"Not as much as I should be, considering," Stiles replies as Derek presses the button.

"Considering what?" Derek cocks an intrigued eyebrow, admiring the way Stiles' face goes instantly pink all the way up to his ears as he's caught off-guard. It's completely adorable.

"Considering, you know, what we're going to be doing once we— Uh, get, you know, upstairs."

"Have high expectations, do we?" Derek asks, pulling Stiles close. He feels the slight drag of his hand as it eases over to curl around the notch of his hip. All the nerves on that side of his body go from ‘off' to ‘high' in a fraction of a second.

"You know what I mean," Stiles chuckles, leaning into Derek as the elevator thrums down toward them from one of the upper floors. "I'm gonna be a little nervous," he shrugs, kicking at the floor. "Because, you know… It's you."

Derek smiles to himself. He can't help it. Because there's something in Stiles' voice that makes him sound like he's everything. Everything he ever wanted and was afraid to ask for. It's too much.

Stiles sighs. "Enh, you've done this before, though. You probably don't understand."

Derek laughs. It's small and broken, and Derek wonders when that started.

"I do though," he shrugs, pulling Stiles closer.

Stiles flicks him a look, and Derek pointedly avoids it. He's probably more nervous than Stiles could ever be, really. He can hear his own heartbeat in his ears, even as Stiles takes a chance and leans in, gently slotting their lips together.

And it's different this time. Derek is very conscious that it's going somewhere. His heart ramps up its sprinting. Stiles sort of turns to step into him, crowding their feet together and pressing their hips deep into each other. There's a pull at Derek's sides where Stiles' hands are resting, and he has no choice but to sink deeper into the kiss as his senses start to black everything out that isn't Stiles' scent, his touch, the taste of his lips, or the sound of his heart.

He doesn't even notice when the elevator comes to noisy stop and the gate eases open, and barely even registers when Stiles pulls him into it and pushes him up against the wall. He does notice when Stiles' fingers begin to dig into his skin, and the breath that filters across his tongue starts to come out in rough, uneven puffs.

They barely make it into the apartment before the clothes start coming off. They stumble toward the bed, locked together at the lips as they make their way across the loft, trodding on each other's feet as they go. When they finally get to the bed, Derek finds himself turned around and pushed down onto the mattress, taken by the fact that it's Stiles who's doing it, standing in front of him, shirt off, pants unbuttoned and slipped low over his hips, almost unfinished, eyes raking down Derek's body in a way that sends shivers down his spine. He smells like arousal, and it makes Derek want.

He kneels, wraps fists around the top of Derek's jeans, and yanks. It's rough, but hesitant. Slow, almost. Like he wants it, but doesn't want to do it wrong. As Derek's cock is about to slip free of his pants, he wraps a gentle hand around Stiles' wrist.

"What're you doing?" He asks.

Stiles kind of freezes. His heart skips a beat.

"Uh, there's something called Christmas blowjobs."

Of course he went right to sarcasm. He was that nervous. Derek smiles to himself.

"How would you know?" He quickly snarks back, and Stiles sighs. In the dim light of the bedroom, Derek can barely make out the color that's crept back into his cheeks.

"Ouch," Stiles says. "S'a low blow, Derek. Like under-the-belt low."

Derek suddenly feels like an ass. He backpedals.

"No, I just— I wasn't trying to—" He sighs softly. "I just don't want to do anything you're not comfortable with."

"I'll be fine," Stiles intones, a note of confidence in his voice that Derek doesn't expect. "At least, I hope I will be. I mean, I better get used to having your dick in my mouth before having it in my ass, right?"

Derek lets his hands trail up Stiles' arms, pads of his thumbs tracing the long cords of muscle thrown into sharp relief by the shadowy light of the room.

"Actually," he ventures, "That's not really what I had in mind for… you know, this."

Stiles' tone slips seamlessly back into snark.

"Wait, you didn't have penetration in mind when coming here tonight?"

"Of course I did," Derek answers, "Just not by me." He watches Stiles freeze and hears the loud skip of his heartbeat. "That is, if you're okay with it," he adds. "I don't want to make you do anything you don't want to."

Stiles swallows, but Derek can tell it's not that he's against the suggestion. Quite the opposite: he's pretty sure he can sense Stiles' arousal just getting even more intense.

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" Stiles eventually asks, sounding hesitant. "With my lack of… experience and all?"

Derek gives him a soft and reassuring smile. "We'll start slow," he says. "We'll talk through it. We'll be fine." He chooses his next words with care. "I trust you—"

He barely finishes his thought before Stiles attacks his mouth again, gripping his jaw with both hands, trying desperately to suck whatever life Derek had left from his lips. Before he knows it, Stiles is back to removing his pants, this time with a tad more confidence. It's still slow, but not hesitant. The drag of his knuckles and the fabric of his jeans down Derek's thighs makes it seem like Stiles means to do that. Like he's trying to savor the moment. The moment when all of Derek is exposed to him. Derek's heart skips several beats. He's ready, but nervous. Stiles makes a quiet, throaty little sound as Derek's cock sort of bounces free. And he's gone.

And then, well, that's it. Stiles' mouth is on his cock, and Derek can't focus on any single one thought. His mind is too busy following the swirl of Stiles' tongue, the almost bruising grip he's got on his hips as he eases his perfect mouth down over the head of it, and it's got Derek's muscles going slack as he leans back onto his elbows, letting his head fall back against the bed as Stiles nearly swallows him whole. It's a feeling unlike any other, and the tug of Stiles' lips, the brush of his tongue. It's got Derek twisting his fingers into the sheets because it's Stiles.

Within seconds, Derek's arching his back, and losing more and more of himself to the obscenely perfect sounds Stiles is making around his cock. He sits up, and his fingers go from the sheets to Stiles' hair, to his jaw, and back again. He's close to the edge, and all he wants, hell all he needs, is to come, with Stiles' lips wrapped securely around his cock, making those wonderful, perfect, needy sounds like this is all he ever wanted and more. Derek has to say his name over and over again to keep from slipping over the edge, to keep him grounded, anchored to himself, and eventually, as Stiles sinks into a rhythm, it's less of a litany and more of a prayer, a constant, repeated plea for Stiles to take everything he has, to tear him apart and consume him, swallow him whole and never, ever stop.

"Stiles," he groans, his throat dry, "Fuck, Stiles— Stiles, you— Stop."

The deep slurping sound Stiles makes as his mouth pulls free of Derek's cock is almost enough to make him come right there, untouched. He has to hold it back when Stiles takes a breath, lips wet and swollen, small string of saliva hanging between them and the crown of his cock.

"Why?" He asks, suddenly confused. "Did I— Was I that bad?"

Derek lets out a pent-up breath and shakes his head.

"Absolutely not. ‘Was good. Very good. Fucking perfect, actually. I just— I need—"

Stiles slips his hand around the base of Derek's cock and slid it up, thumb dabbing at a small pool of pre-come forming at the tip.

"What? What do you need?" He asks, voice utterly ruined.

"I need you to fuck me," Derek sighs, before leaning down to press his lips into Stiles' mouth. He can taste himself on his tongue, and it was all he could do not to sink his teeth in right then and there.

As they kiss, Derek eases his hands down past the waist of Stiles' jeans, letting his hands follow the curve of his ass until he was gripping it securely in his palms. Stiles moans. Derek worries at his bottom lip and lies back, pulling Stiles down on top of him, feeling the mattress pull away from his shoulders where the human posts up his weight, arms hemming Derek in as they kiss. He tries to finish pulling Stiles' pants down over his thighs, grunting awkwardly as he tries to do it without releasing the boy's lips. Stiles pulls back to help him out, a slight smile curved into his mouth. He pulls back completely to kick off his shoes and socks and slip the pants off over his ankles, and Derek drinks him in, watching as random cords of muscle stand out as he flicks the jeans off and tosses them aside, before climbing back on top of him. He leans in for another kiss, and surprises Derek by pulling away after a second, pressing his soft, parted lips down over the edge of his jaw to the sensitive skin underneath, tracking his vein down the side of his neck.

Derek laces his fingers into Stiles' hair and tugs, high, undignified sounds slipping up his throat as Stiles explores his body. After a few seconds of him sucking bruises into the dip just behind Derek's collarbone, he can't take it any longer.

"Lube," Derek breathes, nodding toward the nightstand. He needs it. Stiles flicks him a questioning look.

"Wha—?" He asks, pulling his lips from Derek's skin.

"The lube," Derek repeats. "It's in the nightstand, and condoms too."

Stiles pulls himself away to reach for them.

"Do werewolves actually need condoms?" He asks curiously.

"Well, no, not really," he admits. "I just didn't think it'd be a good idea to introduce you to unsafe sex," he points out, reaching up to take the small bottle from Stiles' hand.

"What am I—" Stiles sort of hovers, unsure of where to go.

Derek kind of chuckles, because it's probably the most adorable thing he'd ever seen. But he really didn't have any idea either.

"Just… come back," Derek pleads. "I need to touch you."

Stiles obeys, as Derek pulls him by his hips in between his legs and flicks open the cap on the lube.

"Have— Have you ever done this before?" Stiles asks, as Derek draws a small line up two fingers with the lube and reaches down to slick up Stiles' cock. His whole body shudders and he lets out a moan. Derek growls. His cock twitches.

"No, I haven't," he finally answers, stroking the lube on to Stiles' cock.

"Are you sure that—" His question is cut off when Derek's hand slides back up under the head of his cock, and he has to lean forward, bracing himself on one arm. "Are you sure that this is— holyshit that feels good." Derek grins to himself. Seeing Stiles unravel is making him yearn. He can feel a dab of moisture as pre-come begins to leak out of his upturned cock onto his abdomen. "I just— Aren't you nervous?"

"Of course I am," Derek replies.

Stiles pulls back, settling onto his knees. In the half-light, he's absolutely glorious. Everything he owns was thrown into sharp relief, and Derek's nerves surge with a whole new sensation that cancels out any nervousness.

"Then why the hell—"

Derek cuts him off, by reaching up and settling his clean hand around the curve of Stiles' neck.

"It's our first time," he assures him, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the ridge of his windpipe. "We're both inexperienced here."

"That's not exactly true, though," Stiles shrugs darkly, reaching a hand up to grip Derek's wrist.

Derek sighs.

"Stiles, listen to me," he begs. "None of them— They don't matter, okay?  I trust you more than I've ever trusted anyone before. You're different. This is different. It'll take some time to get used to."

Stiles stays quiet for a moment, just the sound of their heavy breathing to be heard.

"I may be bad at it," he finally mumbles.

"You won't be," Derek says firmly, pulling him down to try and kiss away any doubt that was gnawing at his mind.

It takes a few tries to finally get it. They have to figure out the angle, how fast Stiles can actually push into him, what position works best, et cetera, but Derek figured that would happen. Stiles learns very quickly that it's best just to ask what feels good, or if he was going too fast or too slow. Derek too, learns what it's like to feel Stiles' cock press against his hole, feel it ease in, fill him up completely, and force the breath from his lungs as he bottoms out. He finds that he'll never get tired of this, the way they actually fit together perfectly, the way it feels to have Stiles' hips pressed up against his ass as he leans over and presses in, inch by inch and torturously slow.

"How's that?" Stiles asks, when he slips fully inside that last time.

Derek can't speak. His cock is throbbing. He nods. It's all he can manage. Then he starts thrusting. He's leaned over Derek, heat radiating from his body as his scent, tinged with sweat and lube and Derek's own practically oozes off of him, and Derek can feel himself begin to melt into the bed as he groans. Each pushscrapepull of Stiles' cock breaks the noise, the roll of his hips just— Fuck, everything. Derek can feel every vein and ridge of Stiles' cock as he fucks into him, each thrust pushing the breath from his lungs and all extraneous thoughts from his brain, until his world narrows to the connection between them, and it's all Stiles, Stiles, Stiles.

As his rhythm intensifies, each thrust pounding into Derek, the werewolf can feel himself begin to come apart at the seams.

"Stiles," he moans, "I can't— Can't hold on for much longer."

He's not even touching himself, but with each push of Stiles inside him, he could feel the pulse of his orgasm in the base of his pelvis. He just wants to come, he wants Stiles to keep fucking him, to never stop, and he wants. He wants it all.

"Me neither," Stiles rasps.

He speeds up the tiniest bit, and Derek wants more.

And he gets it.

Stiles leans down, bracing his elbows against the crook of Derek's shoulders, fingers lacing into his sweat-matted hair as he breathes out short, jagged breaths, swearing softly and murmuring Derek's name like a goddamn prayer. Derek can feel him, feel his hips right up against his ass, feel the way his skin is slick with sweat and their mingled DerekandStiles scent.  He reaches up and grips the back of Stiles' neck and pulls their lips together, licking into his mouth and dragging from it a perfect, sobbing, utterly ruined moan that makes him want to fucking howl. He reaches down, and begins to stroke his cock, aching and sore from waiting.

There's a sharp, high sound, and fingers tightening in Derek's hair as Stiles gives in and comes inside him. His hips are pressed right up against Derek's ass and their mouths are locked together as tight as possible. And it's good, fantastic even, and Derek can't get enough of it as he fucks up into the circle of his hand and back onto Stiles' cock. With each stroke he can feel the come begin to slide out of his ass but fuck it he's so close, and Stiles is there, all warm heat and breathing into his collarbone and—

Derek can't suppress a snarl as he comes into the small space between them, hips bucking and thrusting as Stiles presses soft, open-mouthed kisses into the crook of his neck. When he finishes, Stiles kind of sags into him, not caring at all about the mess across Derek's abs, and Derek loves it.

He loves how Stiles is still breathing heavily, like he just ran a marathon, how he's just sitting there, lips half-parted, his cock still inside his ass, like he doesn't want to break the connection, like he wants to stay inside Derek forever. Derek lets his aftershocks course across his body, sending already overwrought nerves into a frenzy.

As soon as Stiles starts to display discomfort and pull out, however, Derek reaches for his shirt where it landed earlier and uses it to clean them up. It feels cold and empty all of a sudden, and Derek pulls Stiles close again as soon as they've gotten rid of most of the mess.

When it's all said and done, neither of them wants to move. Derek's arms are looped lazily around Stiles' back, enjoying the warm press of his body on top of him as he hums contently. Stiles' breathing slowly turns steady and even, curling warm patterns into the side of Derek's neck.

After a long moment, Derek nudges Stiles lightly.

"Well? How was it?" He asks.

Stiles shrugs. "Eh, I've had better."

Derek snorts. "I'm quite certain you haven't, actually."

"What, had better sex with someone else or had sex at all?"

"Either?" Derek ventures, cocking a quizzical eyebrow up at the ceiling.

Stiles huffs out a laugh and nuzzles closer. "Fair point," he intones matter-of-factly. "But if you want my overall assessment, I'd say we need to do it again. Several times. In several different positions. It's best to have an average for these sorts of things."

Derek hums. "Okay," he agrees.

The silence roams for a while; long enough for Derek starting to expect Stiles to have fallen asleep. It'd make sense, even Derek himself can feel the sleepy afterglow of the orgasm starting to overtake him. But then Stiles speaks.

"Chris called me your mate," he murmurs against Derek's skin.

Derek tilts his head to bury his nose in Stiles' damp hair. "Yeah, he did."

"What exactly does that mean?"

"What do you think it means?" Derek wonders curiously.

"How am I supposed to know?" Stiles asks. "Google is pretty much useless when it comes to the real stuff about werewolves."

Derek chuckles, hand sliding up to grab a handful of Stiles' hair and pull just enough for Stiles to lift his head to look at him. There's not much light, but enough for Derek to make out his eyes in the dim darkness.

"It means you're mine," he says, and his voice comes out deeper than he'd expected, "but you can use any word you want. Mate, partner, lover—"

"Boyfriend?" Stiles suggests.

"Yeah," Derek agrees, running his fingers through Stiles' hair. "That works too."

Stiles' eyes flutter shut at the touch. "I don't care what anyone calls it," he mumbles. "As long as I'm yours."

Derek's heart jolts in euphoria, and the second time tonight he feels like howling. He moves his hand to cup Stiles' face, thumb lazily stroking his cheekbone.

"And you are," he assures. "You smell like mine. Every wolf can sense it and every hunter can see it."

Stiles' face cracks into a smile, and it's one of the most beautiful things Derek has ever seen. His hair and face is damp with sweat, and his eyelids looks heavy, but the honest grin is almost enough to light up the whole room.

-

On Monday, 23rd of December, Melissa decides that it's just not acceptable for a household not to have any homemade gingerbread – referring to the sheriff's house – and gathers the pack for a big baking session at the McCalls. No matter how much Stiles' dad keeps insisting that the bought kind is perfectly fine, and tastes exactly the same – lies – she won't budge.

Stiles loves her.

Allison comes over to help them out, and Melissa is delighted not to be the only woman in the company.

"I'm surrounded by teen wolves," she complains.

"Excuse me," Stiles says, pretending to sound offended.

"You eat like one," Melissa remarks, waving her hand at him.

Derek shows up too, and unfortunately Stiles doesn't make it to the door before Scott and his dad do. He can't remember ever seeing Derek looking as scared as he does when standing face to face with the sheriff for the first time since the night of the dance – before disobeying orders and taking his son home with him. There's a stare-off, but eventually Stiles' dad sighs heavily and moves aside to let him in, mumbling something about Derek being lucky he seems to be the only cure for his son's nightmares.

Stiles barely lets his boyfriend get through the door before leaping forward to shamelessly embrace him. Boyfriend. He repeats the word inside his head as the stiffness in Derek's shoulders slowly wears off and he hugs him back just as tight, pressing his nose to the side of Stiles' neck and breathes him in. Stiles feels his heart flutter by the way Derek relaxes against him, hands grasping the fabric of his thick Christmas sweater.

"I almost thought you wouldn't wanna come," Stiles says into Derek's shoulder.

"This is not gonna work out if I have to hide from your father," Derek replies, lips brushing over the vein in Stiles' neck.

Stiles shudders, smiling. "Good point."

They turn the living room into a baking factory because the kitchen isn't big enough, all of them not fitting around the table. Melissa disappears into the kitchen every now and then to put the next pan of gingerbread in the oven as soon as they've filled a new one with dough in funny forms. They don't work very fast, because Melissa and Scott seem to be the only ones who know how it's done. Stiles is horrible, because he's got no patience with it, and Derek spends most of the time chuckling at him – which is what makes the whole thing worth it.

Lydia drops by to show them the pictures from the dance that she's printed out from the high school's website. She doesn't plan on staying but Melissa insists that they need some professional help and Lydia shrugs and says she can't argue with that, and parks her bag by the table in the living room.

Isaac blushes over the trio's photo, but Melissa snatches it out of his hand and says she'll have it framed and put on the wall. Scott and Allison don't seem to mind, which is good because Stiles fails to see the point. The picture is adorable; Isaac in the center with Scott behind him and Allison against his front. Their faces may be a bit funny but their eyes are shining with pure happiness, and that's what counts.

Danny and Ethan are pretty cute too, Stiles has to admit, but sadly Danny isn't around to lay his opinion. Lydia stows it back into her bag and states that he probably hacked into the school's database and got the picture Saturday morning already. Then she starts adoring her own dress.

"Stiles," Melissa says a while later. "Could you go check the oven?"

"Gladly," Stiles replies, dropping the dough back on the table as he gets up.

He sees Derek watching him in the corner of his eye, and he meets his gaze. His dad must've noticed because he sighs heavily.

"You too, Derek," he says casually, lowering his gaze back to what he's working on. "Make sure he doesn't burn himself."

Stiles suppresses a grin and heads for the kitchen with Derek following him.

"You're the one who can't handle a stove, dad."

The sheriff just hums in response, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Stiles crouches down in front of the oven to look through the foggy glass. The heat hits him in the face, and it smells wonderful, but the gingerbreads still look more like dough than solid cookies. He straightens back up, turning to Derek who's standing next to him.

"They're not ready yet," he shrugs.

Derek just nods. "Guess we'll have to wait then," he suggests.

Stiles looks around impatiently, wanting to sit down because he'll start bouncing if he has to stand. There are no chairs left in the kitchen, however, as all of them are being put to use in the living room. Two of the counters are covered with already browned gingerbreads, but one is clean. Stiles walks over there and hops on it, steadying himself with his hands flat on the surface.

Derek is watching him when he looks back to where he's still standing in the middle of the room, and Stiles' heart skips a beat when realizing they're alone. He swallows, butterflies stirring in his stomach as he spreads his legs a little and pats on the edge of the counter.

"Come here, boy," he calls with a goofy grin.

Derek snorts, and Stiles expects him to roll his eyes and say something snarky in return, but he doesn't. He just arches one of his ridiculously attractive eyebrows at his joke and obliges; steps up to the counter and positions himself between Stiles' knees. It's a surprise, but exactly what Stiles wanted, so he doesn't hesitate to reach for him; hands immediately sliding into Derek's hair. Derek hums contently, gripping the edge of the counter and leans into Stiles' space. Their noses bump together, and Stiles scoffs at how silly and perfect it is.

"You're kind of like a puppy," he sighs softly.

"I don't see you complaining," Derek counters.

"Nope," Stiles agrees, still smiling wide. "I always wanted a puppy."

Derek huffs, shaking his head just a little before his eyelids drop half-closed. It takes a moment before Stiles realizes that Derek is looking at his mouth, but once he does, that's all he needs before pulling him in for a kiss.

It's slow and tender at first; Derek's hands still on the counter and letting Stiles tilt his head for a better angle as they part their lips. Stiles doesn't even try to stop the happy hum slipping out of him when Derek's gently sucks his bottom lip, which only seems to be appreciated because Derek makes the exact same noise in return. He leans further forward, the warmth from his body reaching through the thin layer of air between them that just keeps decreasing.

Eventually Stiles can't take it anymore and tries to shuffle closer to the edge, hands sliding down the werewolf's neck and to his shoulders for support. He almost expects Derek to pull away or keep his hands from roaming too much, because he's still got his rules for how far is too far, but he doesn't. If anything; he seems to be just as lost in it as Stiles is.

A dull growl vibrates in Derek's throat, and then his hands are leaving their safe place on the counter and instead slide up Stiles' thighs. Stiles groans happily, his tongue colliding with Derek's in a wet and hot battle. Derek lets his hands linger on Stiles' thighs for a while before moving them further up again, reaching back to grab his butt and swiftly pull him all the way to the edge of the counter where he collides with Derek's front.

Stiles moans in surprise as well as approval, feeling his blood rushing south and straight to his privates the way they are flushed together now. His mouth falls open, and Derek takes the opportunity to thrust his tongue inside and make Stiles repeat the same sound again, now muffled against Derek's mouth. The hands on his butt keep roaming; one of them clutching at the hem of his sweater in a half-heartedly attempt to lift it up. It doesn't go very well, because of how they are pressed together, and Stiles can't make himself pull away enough quick enough to let Derek slip his hand inside his shirt.

"Oh my god!" Scott shouts from the doorway, and Stiles is so startled he's pretty sure he lifts from the counter. "Guys, please, this is my house!"

Derek growls lowly, hands retreating to the edge of the counter but ducks his head down to hide his face in the curve of Stiles' neck. He can feel the heat from Derek's cheek against his skin, and they are both breathing heavily with their hearts still pounding against their ribcages.

"You and Isaac slept in my bed," Stiles counters, sending his best friend a glare while grasping the hair in the back of Derek's neck, keeping him in place.

Scott's cheeks flush a little, but his determination won't budge. "You weren't present!" He points out.

"You weren't present twenty seconds ago!" Stiles argues.

"I smelled burned cookies," Scott explains sharply, nodding to the oven.

-

Derek's first thought is simply no.

Absolutely not. No to Stiles, no to the two pairs of ice-skates that he's currently walking back from the checkout desk with, no to the rest of the damn pack already out on the outdoor ice rink in the dead of winter, no to all of it.

“Derek!” Comes Stiles’ happy yell when he sees the werewolf walking over. The sound threatens to undo all of Derek’s stubbornness in one fell swoop. “You made it!”

He drops the skates on a nearby bench and bounds over to wrap Derek in his arms. One would think they hadn't just spent the entire day together in bed yesterday the way Stiles is squeezing him as tight as he is. He is, as always, a ball of simmering heat, even in the frigid winter air.

“How could I not?” Derek asks into Stiles’ neck, trying to hold on to his stubborn denial and failing miserably, “You threatened grievous bodily harm to my leather jacket if I didn’t show up.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Right,” Derek says with a glower along with a suspicious raise of an eyebrow. Admittedly, he still got Stiles’ hoodie, so two could play at that game, if necessary. “So we’re ice-skating?”

“Yup,” Stiles grins as they walk back to the bench where it looked like the rest of the pack had deposited their shoes, the very same one where Stiles had dropped the skates a few seconds ago. “Figured it’d be fun.” Derek rolls his eyes. “What?”

“Nothing, I just can't skate for shit.”

“I’m sure you’re better than you think you are,” Stiles replies, patting his back as they sit down to change out their shoes for skates. “Plus you’re a werewolf. You've got all your werewolf-ish skills and whatnot. S’gotta count for something.”

“You’d think,” Derek snorts as he slips the used skates on over his socks. Stiles nudges him.

“Well, then it’s a good thing you got me around.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I have it on pretty good authority that I’m a great ice-skater.” Derek shoots him a sidelong glance as he laces up his skates. “What? I can help you!”

Derek scoffs. “Yeah, by dragging my limp, unconscious body from the ice when I’ve brained myself on it for the tenth time just trying to stand up.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “You are such a drama-wolf.”

He finishes lacing up his skates and stands up, testing the feel of them against the floor. Once satisfied, he steps in front of Derek, who is checking the laces of his left skate one final time, and gives him an expectant look.

He sighs because apparently Derek is just oozing light and positivity at this point. “Tell you what, dude, if you’re really as bad as you say you are," Stiles sighs, "and aren’t having any fun whatsoever, we can leave and go get some hot chocolate or something.” Now that did sound good. Derek looks up. “Deal?” Stiles offers him a hand and Derek takes it without a second thought.

Of course, as soon as they get out onto the ice, Derek wonders just how soon he can cash in their little bargain. Within thirty seconds, he’s already tripped and flailing because his stupid skate got caught in one of the ridges someone else had left when they did some kind of sliding stop, before he caught himself on the wall. But he didn’t fall. Progress, he thinks.

Maybe he wasn’t as bad as he remembered being. That thought lasted only until he trips the second time, and nearly takes out some lady and her little girl. This conveniently happens while Stiles has gone to do a lap and catch up with the rest of the pack, before returning to where Derek is currently splayed out on the ice, hating himself and everything around him.

“Remind me again how you are a functioning werewolf?” He asks, his stupid voice ripe with sarcasm as he skids to a stop right next to where Derek had fallen.

“Do you need to see fangs, or…?” Derek snarks as he pushes himself up, trying to regain his footing on the slippery ice and failing.

Stiles chuckles, shaking his head. “Want some help?” He offers a gloved hand.

Derek glares up at him, stubborn wolf in denial that he is anything but perfectly fine. Even though his last two attempts at moving on the ridiculous skates had ended with him face-planting into the slippery-wet hard ice of the skating rink. He reaches up and takes the proffered hand, letting Stiles finish pulling him to his feet.

“If I’d have known," he staggers, nearly falling again, but keeps his balance by gripping Stiles’ forearm, “that your vague-as-hell text message that you ‘had a surprise for me’ was this,” he falters again and almost takes Stiles down in the process. “I’d have told you to nip off and fuck yourself.”

“Even after all the fun we had yesterday?” Stiles asks wryly, waggling his eyebrows like the little shit that he is.

Yesterday was fun. There's no way Derek is going to deny that. Not that they had done much else than proceeded with Stiles' aggressive cuddle-plan, barely leaving the bed at all, but it had been perfect. Derek had still made sure things didn't get too heated, but had still allowed Stiles to pull his hoodie over Derek's head to explore his body. Derek had let him do that too; let him slide his cold fingers over his warm skin and had watched the awe in Stiles' big eyes as he did.

It had been the most lazy and perfect day Derek's ever had. Eventually Stiles had to turn on his phone back on, however, and the sheriff called to order him home almost immediately. He'd sounded more tired than mad over the phone, and Derek just hoped he wouldn't get greeted with an ordinary bullet next time he came for a visit.

Derek grumbles as he finally settles into a position where he isn't liable to eat it. He's hunched slightly forward, arms and fingers splayed like there was an invisible, solid force he's clinging to for support in case he starts to fall again. Not that it’d matter anyway. His ankles are already trembling in anticipation.

“You’re a work of art, Hale.”

“Shut up,” Derek growls, gripping Stiles’ arm that much tighter, hating how he seems to be infinitely more at home in this particular situation than he was. “I hate ice-skating.”

“You’re doing better than me, my first time,” Stiles shrugs, gingerly pulling Derek forward on the ice.

“This isn’t my first time,” Derek growls.

Stiles suppresses a chuckle as they skid along the ice. They make a ridiculous sight, Derek knows; him frozen in his awkward position, trying not to move too much to prevent another makeout session with the ice, gripping Stiles’ arm like it's the only thing keeping him alive. Which, in this case, it is.

“Then do you want some advice?”

“No.”

“Well I’m gonna give it to you anyway,” Stiles grins, before skidding to a halt. “Relax.”

“How can I relax when I’m standing on thin metal blades on ice, with about zero traction?”

Stiles rolls his eyes and pries himself out of Derek’s grip.

“What’re you—” Derek tries to grab him again, but Stiles shirks out of the way. He nudges up underneath the crook of the werewolf’s arm, settling a hand across his back to his opposite hip.

“Better?” Stiles asks as Derek settles against him.

It is, actually, but mostly because he's wrapped in Stiles’ layers permeating warmth, which was sapping the ice's chilly bite from his skin.

“Yeah, I guess,” Derek shrugs, as he tries to ease forward.

Stiles mirrors the gesture. They get exactly three feet before Derek knocks one of his skates against Stiles’, loses it, and goes tumbling into the ground once more. There's a muted shriek, accompanied by a flail, as Stiles follows suit, landing squarely on Derek’s chest and effectively crushing the air from it.

“Sorry,” he croaks.

“I told you I was hopeless,” Derek mumbles into the mop of Stiles’ hair, as if to bookend the experience.

“Eh,” he shrugs. “You could be worse.”

“How’s that?” Derek asks, unconvinced.

He’d been here all of fifteen minutes and spent less than five of them actually standing. He nearly took out a mother and her daughter. He’d managed to eat it even with Stiles trying to support him, and somehow took him down too when he fell. How could it possibly get any worse? He looks at the top of Stiles’ head expectantly and predictably, he's silent.

“Thought so,” Derek snorts derisively. Despite the cold of the ice against his back, Stiles, being the usual human space-heater that he was, is warming Derek’s body quite nicely.

“Don’t be a dick, dude. Now c’mon, lemme help you up.” He pushes himself off of Derek’s torso, but Derek catches his wrist before he stands up completely. “What?” He asks, furrowing his brow in a moment of seriousness.

“Come here for a sec,” Derek answers, suddenly wanting Stiles’ lips on his own. Might be the only thing that would turn this awful experience around.

“Wha—? No. There are people around. They’re starting to stare already.”

“Let ‘em,” Derek intones with a shrug, just like he had done two nights ago. They’d been staring at his flailing, falling ass since he got here, anyway.

Before Stiles can protest further, he reaches a hand around the back of his neck to fit their mouths together.

Stiles’ lips are chapped slightly from the cold, but his heat is intoxicating. It washes over Derek’s nerves like water over rocks, and suddenly, he doesn't care that he’d spent more time lying on the ice than he had been standing on it.

That is, until Scott skates to a halt right next to them.

“Leave it to you two to wind up making out in the middle of the rink,” he jokes, eyeing them both warily. “You guys need some help?”

Stiles answers for the both of them. “Nah, we’re fine. We were just about to head out anyway, go get some hot chocolate or something.”

Derek notices how perfect his cheeks look flushed that ruddy shade of red. Whether from either the cold or the kiss, he couldn't tell. 

“I could stay,” Derek ventures and Stiles shoots him a surprised look.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m… I’m having fun,” he shrugs even as he struggles to brace himself up on the ice as a grin curls at the corners of Stiles' mouth.

“Even with all the falling you've been doing?” Stiles asks through a laugh, before leaning back in to press a quick kiss against Derek's lips.

Scott groans. Derek hears him say something about coming to find the rest of the group once they finish playing tonsil hockey, and Stiles flips him off as he skates away.