shipALLthepeople

Replying to theonceandfutureALPHA

YYYYYYAAAAASSSSS

loversnotfighters

Replying to theonceandfutureALPHA

HOLY FUCK TRUCK I LOVE IT

werewolfsbeard

Replying to theonceandfutureALPHA

Perf so much perf. All the perf. Wow.

fangirlingwillendme

Replying to theonceandfutureALPHA

i usually stay away from RPF but YES. im probably going to hell for shipping this so hard, but im sure i’ll make friends with Satan.

Stiles paused, “Derek, we have a couple name. Holy shit. That means in a couple of weeks we can scroll through a couple tag on Tumblr. I’ve always wanted a couple tag.”

“What’s Tumblr?”

Stiles gasped and clutched at his heart. “What’s--” Stiles paused and his lips quirked up in a half smile. He leaned over and dusted a kiss over Derek’s eyebrows, “I have so much to teach you. I’m going to make you a social media wizard.”

Derek smiled and rolled his eyes before trying to steal the iPad from Stiles. “I have this horrible feeling that you can’t be trusted with this.”

Stiles yanked the iPad backward, and almost tumbled over the side of the bed. “No touchie.” Stiles grinned and giggled at the reference while Derek looked on, flummoxed. “Really?” Stiles said, horrified, “Nothing?” Stiles tried again, “You threw off my groove!”

Derek shook his head.

Stiles groaned and collapsed against Derek, “I had such faith that this would work out. I mean, you’re hotter than the sun and you think I’m sexy and you think I’m funny. That happens like, never. It’s usually one of those triangle charts where you have to pick two.”

Derek grinned and leaned down to capture Stiles’ lips in a slow kiss. “You could always edu-ma-cate me.”

Stiles nodded as he deepened the kiss. The iPad fell to the side as Stiles moved his hands to clutch at Derek’s neck.

Derek pulled back slightly and said roughly, “I thought you wanted to look at all the comments.”

Stiles waved a hand absently at the iPad before leaning in again to recapture Derek’s lips, “I’m sure they’ll be there later.”

Derek laughed and pulled Stiles up onto his lap to get a better angle, and like that, all the comments on their video were forgotten.

*~*

Later, after their immediate post-coital cuddles were over and Derek was preparing to feed Stiles because “I’m not a sex slave you can use willy-nilly. I need sustenance!” Derek had started to brew the coffee while Stiles had gotten himself comfortable on a barstool at the bar. He was scrolling absently through the comments of their video, reading the best ones as Derek worked on breakfast.

“Derek!” Stiles called, scrambling off his barstool and flailing toward the stove, “You’ve gotta check out this argument.” Stiles paused and looked at the four pieces of bread on a skillet on the stove. “What ya making?”  

Derek held up four eggs, “Egg-in-a-hole bread: Derek style.” Derek gestured to the pan of sautéed onions and bell peppers, the mix of chopped basil and shredded mozzarella, the bottle of Sriracha, and the bowl of fresh ceviche.

Stiles plopped his iPad onto the counter, “Are you shitting me?”

Derek shifted, spatula in his hand. “Um, no. I’m not shitting you.”

Stiles dove toward the ceviche. He stuck his hand into the bowl and grabbed at pieces of shrimp and guacamole. He popped them into his mouth and groaned as the taste of lime burst across his tongue. “Oh my god. Derek.” He grabbed a piece of tomato; this time it was flavored with cilantro. Stiles moaned at the taste again, “This is so good.”

Derek smirked and leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to Stiles’ lips. “That’s what you said last night.”

Stiles snorted and smacked Derek’s arm. “That’s such a line. If you want to seduce me, you’re going to have to be more creative.”  

Derek smirked and leaned in, “Oh, creativity is what you want?” Derek pressed his forehead against Stiles’. “I can give you creativity.”

Stiles ran his hands up Derek’s arms, stopping to grip his shoulders, “Can you? I don’t know if I believe that.”

Derek’s hands, still holding the spatula, drifted down onto Stiles’ hips. “I bet you I could get pretty creative with this spatula.” Derek gave waggled his eyebrows at Stiles.

Stiles balked and leaned, back curving, away from Derek, “You are not sticking a spatula up my butt. For one, that is so unhygienic. For two, that’s a wildly bad misuse of cooking tools. For three, that just sounds so uncomfortable.”

Derek raised an eyebrow and smirked, “Who said anything about it going up your butt?” Then he gave a playful whack to Stiles’ ass with the spatula.

Stiles stared wide-eyed at Derek. “I feel like that’s still a misuse of cooking utensils.”

Derek leaned in, nuzzling against Stiles’ neck, tongue and teeth grazing at his collarbone. “It’s only a misuse if I do it wrong.”

Stiles leaned in and shifted so his hands rested on top of Derek’s over his hips. “Let’s see if I can do it right.” Quickly, he grabbed the spatula from Derek’s loosening grip and smacked him with it. “How’s that?” Stiles asked, cackling as he hit Derek with a resounding SMACK sound.

Derek jumped back, “That hurts!” Stiles whacked him again. “Stop that!” He tried grabbing for Stiles and the spatula but Stiles danced away from his reaching hands.

Stiles ran past him, hitting him on the ass as he went by, cackling like a madman. “No!”

Derek growled and lunged after the other man, but again, Stiles avoided his grip. “Stiles! I need to flip the bread!” He frowned and crossed his arms over his chest, giving up trying to catch Stiles and instead waiting for him to come back.

Stiles threw a wide smile over his shoulder, “You should have thought of that before you started this ridiculous spatula business!” Stiles got just close enough to him again, another resounding smack to his arm. Derek lunged trying to grab the spatula, but Stiles dodged the lunge, cackling.

Derek gave up trying to lure Stiles in and began chasing him. Stiles laughed and led Derek on a chase through the loft apartment.  With one final lunge, Derek reached forward and grabbed Stiles around the waist, dragging him to the floor. Stiles shrieked and immediately began squirming in Derek’s grip. Derek’s grip tightened and he reached for the spatula.

Stiles curled himself into a ball, clutching the spatula to his chest.

“Stiles!” Derek growled, “Give me the spatula.”

“No!” Came the muffled cry from within the ball of Stiles.

“You are behaving like a child.” Derek was trying to push his hand through the cage of Stiles’ arms. But Stiles had obviously done this before, and Derek’s attempts to get the spatula were futile. “Give me the spatula.”

Stiles laughed, “Only if you promise not to hit me with it.”

Derek laughed and nipped at one of Stiles’ exposed ears. “I promise not to hit you with it.”

Stiles’ only movement was a twitching of his head that brought his ear closer to Derek’s mouth. Derek chuckled and nipped at the ear again before moving his lips to Stiles’ jawline. “Come on, Stiles. I have to finish feeding you. I bet you’re hungry.” Derek bit down and whispered against Stiles’ skin, “I know I am.”

Stiles let out a squeak and relaxed into Derek’s body. Derek snatched the spatula and released Stiles, rocking back onto his heels, leaving Stiles abruptly.

Stiles flipped himself over and laid on his back, glaring at Derek. “You, sir, are an asshole.”

Derek smiled and stood up before going over to Stiles and holding out a hand. Stiles took it and Derek hefted him up, “Why am I an asshole?”

“You,” Stiles said, poking Derek’s back with a finger, “were supposed to feed me before round whatever we’re on but all you’ve done is get me horny again.”

Derek snorted, “And how did I do that?”

Stiles gestured to the general space, “With the banter, and the spatula, and the chasing, and the bites, and the whole ‘Stiles, give me the spatula’ grr.” Stiles pantomimed claws flexing. “It was all very erotic.”

Derek raised an eyebrow and turned his attention to the very burnt bread on the griddle. “It really wasn’t.”

Stiles smirked, “Are you telling me that chasing me around your apartment,” Stiles came up behind Derek and wrapped his arms around Derek’s torso, “and catching me,” Stiles pressed his lips against the nape of Derek’s neck. Stiles smiled at the shiver that raced down Derek’s spine, “and dragging me to the floor,” Stiles dropped little nibbling bites at the nape of Derek’s neck, “and growling, and ordering me around, isn’t the least bit erotic to you?” Stiles mouthed at a mark he had made on Derek’s shoulder the previous night.

Derek let out a low groan, “Okay, you’ve made your point. Now get off so I can finish breakfast.” Derek swatted absently at Stiles’ face, to which Stiles huffed out a laugh and released the previous night’s mark.

He continued, however, to cling to Derek’s back as Derek finished preparing four new slices of bread and putting them onto the griddle. He watched as Derek cracked an egg into each hole in the bread. He felt Derek’s muscles shift as he spread the mozzarella and basil mixture onto one of the eggs still on the griddle. Stiles watched at the mozzarella slowly melted around the yellow and white of the egg, onto the surrounding bread, the bits of basil streaked through the melted cheese. Stiles felt Derek’s shoulder muscles shift as he slid the spatula, one by one, underneath each piece of bread and placed each piece of bread on a large serving platter.

Derek sidestepped—Stiles shuffling along with him—and began dressing the remaining egg-in-a-hole breads with his various toppings. He scooped on large helpings of ceviche, squeezed lines of Sriracha, and spooned onions and bell peppers onto the final one. Derek, with Stiles still clinging to his back, turned and deposited the serving plate onto the bar.

“Here,” he said, peeling Stiles’ hands from his torso, “you sit here, and I’ll bring the coffee.” Derek turned and grabbed two mugs from the cabinet and filled them with the fresh coffee. He grabbed a jar of sugar and the half-and-half from the fridge before depositing them all in front of Stiles.

Stiles stared at the veritable feast in front of him, “Derek, these eggs look so good.” The eggs were cooked perfectly: yolks yellow, whites white. Derek gestured to Stiles to pick whichever two he wanted, Stiles grabbed the Sriracha and the ceviche covered ones while Derek grabbed the onions and mozzarella ones.

Stiles stabbed his fork right into the middle of the egg and watched with delight as the bright yellow yolk spilled over everything. “Run for your lives!” he screamed, stabbing the yolk with his fork again and again, watching as more yolk ran out, “The volcan-egg has erupted! We’re all gonna dieeeee!” Stiles shrieked as if the little citizens of the egg-world were being burned alive by the yolk-lava.

Stiles looked up to see Derek staring at him, fork and knife up and ready to eat his eggs, knife in his right hand and fork in his left. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Stiles looked down at his oozing eggs, “Um, eating my eggs, duh.”

“Why are you eating them like that.”

Stiles snorted, “How else are you supposed to eat them?”

“I don’t know, like a normal fucking person.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, as if Derek were being the immature one, “But that’s so boring. This makes it fun. Exciting. Creative.” Stiles winked at Derek for the last one.

Derek studied Stiles’ face for a moment, “Okay.” He turned back to his eggs and calmly cut them up. Then he took his first bite. After he had chewed and swallowed, he reached down and pulled the hem of his white tank top up until it rested in a bunch around his armpits.

Stiles inhaled and a crumb went down the wrong way. He coughed and hacked, saying between coughs, “Derek, what’re you doing?”

Derek smirked, an eyebrow raised as he took another bite. “I’m eating creatively.” Then he finished pulling of his shirt, throwing it somewhere in the direction of the living room.

Stiles’ fork clattered onto his plate. Derek raised an eyebrow as he took another bite. He shifted and pulled a sock halfway off his foot. When Derek had rolled out of bed, he had cursed that his floors were cold and pulled on a pair of fuzzy socks that Cora had left behind. Stiles had laughed and teased him about it until Stiles’ feet had hit the floor. Then he had demanded a pair of socks as well.

Stiles was still staring as Derek took another bite and his sock slipped off his foot totally. Derek raised an eyebrow at Stiles’ clothing, “I’ve only got three pieces of clothing left. And you’re still completely dressed.”

Stiles gestured to his lap, “I think you’re forgetting, I’m going commando and you’re not.”

Derek grabbed his fork and wrapped his lips around the bite of egg and toast. He let out a low groan. As he did his second sock slipped off. Derek’s gaze dropped down to the ground, “Oops, guess I need a second bite.” He forked another bite into his mouth, groaning around the fork again.

Derek looked back at Stiles, “You’re still behind on this game.”

Stiles grabbed his fork from where it lay in a bed of goopy egg yolk and shoveled a bite into his mouth. He smiled at Derek and pulled off a sock. He grabbed a second bite and pulled off his other sock.

Derek raised his eyebrows, “Someone is in a hurry.”

Stiles smiled and gestured to Derek’s ignored plate of food, “Now who’s slacking?” Stiles takes another bite and hiked his shirt up into his armpits, exposing long trails of hickies from the previous night.

Derek takes a bite, smirking around the fork and wiggled his sweatpants to halfway down his thighs.

Stiles focused on the clinging navy boxer briefs revealed by the wiggling as he took a bite of his food and finished taking his shirt off.

Derek took another bite of food and let his sweatpants fall around his knees.

Stiles stared at the waistband of Derek's navy boxer briefs and licked his lips.

Derek smirked and gestured to Stiles' food with his chin. "You gonna take another bite?"

Immediately, Stiles shoveled another bite of food into his mouth and pulled his sweatpants down to his knees revealing his bare thighs and interested cock.

"That's cheating. That move counted for two bites of food and you only took one."

Stiles stared at Derek's smirk for a moment. "I've just made an executive decision that you're not allowed to be creative anymore."

Derek smirked and took another bite. "Oh really?" He raised an eyebrow and pulled at his sweatpants until they pooled around the middle of his calf. "One part of you seems to be enjoying my creativity just fine." Stiles flushed at the half mast erection in his lap.

"Yeah  well, not all of me is thinking with the same head."

Derek laughed and picked up another bite. Derek's gaze met Stiles' as he slowly sealed his lips around his fork and pulled his bite off his fork. There was only the quiet sound of Derek's sweatpants sliding off his calves and hitting the ground.

Stiles whined "Come on, Derek! I'm practically naked and you've still got underwear on!" He kicked his sweatpants off, "Now I'm all the way naked!!!" Stiles waved his arms up and down gesturing the expanse of pale, mole-dotted skin on display, "Don't you want to get all up in this ASAFP??!?

Derek laughed, "Of course I want to get all up on that as soon as fucking possible. But you haven't finished your breakfast yet. I wouldn't want to give you the impression that you're a sex slave meant to be around for me to use whenever I'm horny."

Stiles' mouth dropped open. "You motherfucker." Then he pushed his plate back with a clatter and jumped onto Derek's lap. He wrapped his arms around Derek's shoulders and thrust his hands into Derek's mussed hair. "How the fuck are you so hot. Like usually any sassy-ness is a bonus. Or like I have to sacrifice something for it.” Stiles pressed kisses to Derek’s mouth, jawline, and neck. “But with you it comes already installed.” Stiles shifted his kisses from mere presses of lips to skin to light nips with teeth. “I’ve been blessed by the Sex Gods.”

Derek chuckled and tipped his head back, giving Stiles more access to his neck. “Does this mean we have to give them an offering?”

Stiles stopped his exploring of Derek’s neck and leaned back. His hands traveled southward toward the waistband of Derek’s boxer briefs. With a twinkle in his eye he said, “Oh Derek, we’re going to give them the best damn offering they’ve ever seen.”

Derek laughed and for a while they completely forgot about spatulas and eggs and toast.

*~*

“Today,” Stiles says, thrusting a bottle of tequila at the camera, “we are drinking tequila with lamb sausages with spiced lentils.”

He gestures to the empty kitchen behind him, “And I know what you’re thinking. Did Stiles just say ‘we’? Yes. Yes I did. Would you like to see who ‘we’ is?”

From off camera there is a long sigh, “Stiles,” grumbles Derek walking into the frame of the video, “I don’t see what the point of this is.”

Stiles gawks at Derek’s entrance, “It’s suspenseful and intriguing!”

Derek crosses his arms and frowns, “It’s stupid.”

Stiles folds his arms and glares until Derek sighs again. “Get out and redo your entrance. It has to be amazing, flamboyant, totally representative of this channel!” When Derek still doesn’t move, Stiles rushes forward and pushes at his big body until Derek once again moves out of the frame.

Stiles beams at the camera and wiggles the tequila, “Would you like to see who ‘we’ is?”

Derek walks in from out of the frame and says, with the surliest frown, “I am ‘we.’” Then, with a pointed look at Stiles, sticks his arms straight out and does the grumpiest jazz hands to have ever grumped.

Stiles throws his arms up into the air and yells, “DAMMIT DEREK!”

Derek smirks and the intro rolls.

It’s easy to say that the resulting video is a failure of a recipe but a successful video. It turns out that while Derek is an extremely competent sober chef, as a drunk chef he is an absolute mess. When he’s draining the lentils over half of them fall out of the sieve and into the sink, and he makes no less than five innuendos about sausages (which is not enough to beat Stiles who tallies in at a whopping ten innuendos, but not a measly score either).

Stiles while a competent chef both sober and drunk, is not competent while cooking with a drunk Derek who takes as many opportunities to touch any one of the many love bites he has left on Stiles’ body. Instead of asking Stiles to move to the side or nudging him with a shoulder like sober Derek would do, drunk Derek grabs Stiles at the hips and moves him the way he sees fit.

Drunk Derek is also a lot more pre-occupied with sticking things in his mouth and tasting them. He scoops up caramelized onions and dangles them above his open mouth before dropping them in, he sticks his finger into the crème fraîche and licks it off in long pulls of his tongue, and drops his chin onto Stiles’ shoulder when Stiles is showing the finished product—burnt sausage and over cooked lentils—to the camera. It is all very distracting for Stiles.

The fans, however, love it. Within hours of the video going up, there are gifs under the Sterek tag on Tumblr. Stiles was wrong about that, it hadn’t taken a couple of weeks for a Sterek tag to be born on Tumblr, but just Derek’s video and a handful of tweets.

There are gifs of Derek’s tongue sweeping up crème fraîche and Stiles’ reaction, a tongue flicking out and wetting his bottom lip. And there is the particularly popular gif of Derek’s monotoned, grumpy, jazz hands that was quickly becoming a new meme. People start tweeting at them asking when they were going to officially come out as together. Gifs zoomed in on Derek’s hands as they clutched at Stiles’ hips and Stiles’ sloppy presentation of the burnt sausages and lentils with Derek clinging to his back are everywhere with the caption “Relationship Goals.”

Derek and Stiles thought the reception of it all was amazing. Or, at least they would have if they hadn’t been so hungover the morning after the filming and posting of the video.

“Stiles,” Scott threw open Stiles’ bedroom door, “You gotta check out these gifs on Tumblr.”

Stiles groaned and Derek threw a pillow at the door. He felt vindicated when there was a muffled yelp and an extended, “HEEYYYYYY! That isn’t very nice! Especially after everything I do for you, Stiles!”

Stiles groaned again, “I know, I know, you edit my videos when I’m too drunk and hungover to do it myself. Now get out!”

Scott threw the pillow at the hungover couple, “Okay, fine, but I thought you should know that your couple tag on Tumblr is blowing up. There’s even fanart. Granted it’s you guys having sex in the kitchen with your mushy lentils on the ground nearby, but it’s still fanart.”

Stiles poked his head out from underneath the large comforter and glared at Scott, “I swear to god, Scott, if you don’t shut up right now, I’m going to spill the beans about the time Allison’s dad almost caught you and Allison having sex and you had to hide in her closet wearing the bright pink panties she dared you to wear.”

“Whatever,” Scott rolled his eyes, “our friends already know that story.”

“At the weekly McCall-Stilinski-Argent Sunday dinner.” Stiles did not bother to look at his friend and instead chose to throw the comforter back over his head so he could retreat into the blessed darkness.  He smiled when there was a quiet click of the door closing softly.

Stiles turned and nestled in closer to Derek’s side.

Derek let out a low groan and said, “Noooo you’re too hot.”

Stiles snorted, “Liar. You’re the one who is burning all kinds of carbs by just laying there.”

“But you’re the one who does his best impression of an octopus in his sleep.”

“I do not!”

“Do to!”

“Derek Fucking Hale you’re such a liar!”

“You’re the liar, whatever your first name is Stilinski.” Derek poked at Stiles who had thrown his leg over the back of Derek’s thighs.

“Ugh Derek, why do I do this to myself periodically.”

Derek huffed into the pillow, “Well, I think you usually stop drinking when you’re done filming but you wanted to be ‘creative’ again last night.”

Stiles slapped Derek’s arm, “Hey! You like it when I come up with creative sex. You get all growly and rough and grrr and your groans are all rumbly and you leave stubble burn all over me…” Stiles’ voice trailed off. After a moment of silence, Stiles spoke again, “Hey Derek—”

“No.”

“But you don’t even know what I was going to say!” Stiles cried, indignant.

“No, but I can guess.”

“What? That’s preposterous!”

“No it’s not.” Derek lifted up his face from where it was buried in the pillow. “I can feel your half mast dick against my hip but I don’t give a shit. You want an orgasm? Get your lazy ass up and rub one out. I’m sleeping off a hangover.” With that, Derek dropped his face back into the pillow and began snoring.

Stiles groaned, “You’re such a dick.”

“Uh uh,” Derek said, voice muffled against the fabric of the pillow, “you’re the dick. You’re the one who got me drunk then won’t let me sleep off the hangover.”

“But Derreeekkkk.” Stiles whined, drawing out the last syllable.

A muscular arm emerged from where it was buried in Stiles’ sheets, “Bathroom.”

Stiles huffed and dragged himself out of bed to rub one out in the bathroom.

Derek drifted back off to sleep and pretended not to care when Stiles came back to the bed and proceeded to drape himself all over Derek’s back.

Hours later when Derek was no longer dead to the world but Stiles was up and scrolling through the comments on their sausage video together, they sat and scrolled through their couple tag on Tumblr.

“What,” said Derek, “the fuck is that?!”

“Oh,” said Stiles, “that’s fanart.”

“No. That’s you, naked on my kitchen counter while I’m doing some things with my tongue on your butt that would be fun in a bed but incredibly un-hygienic in a kitchen.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and stared at the fanart, “You know, I wouldn’t be averse to doing that or having that done to me.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, rubbing at his eyebrows, “I’m not rimming you on the kitchen counter. That is so unsanitary.”

“Fine we don’t have to do it in your kitchen. We can do it in mine. You won’t have to worry about it.”

“Oh really? Is Scott going to be okay with that?”

“Oh absolutely. We’re bros.”

“Is that so?” Derek stood up and grabbed the comforter from the bed. “Well, let me just go ask him.” With that, Derek wrapped himself in the comforter and left the room to go find Scott.

Stiles sat and twiddled his thumbs, scrolling through the Sterek tag. Suddenly there was an ear piercing shriek and pounding footsteps.

Scott threw himself through the doorway and screamed, “THERE IS NO WAY IN HELL ANYONE IS GETTING RIMMED ANYWHERE NEAR THE KITCHEN COUNTER.”

Derek appeared behind the beet red and huffing Scott and said, “I don’t think you guys are as close as you’d like to think, Stiles.”

Stiles threw his arms and said, “It’s like no one wants me to have a sex life anymore!”

Scott looked at Stiles, “You can have all the fun, gay, lubed, kinky, butt sex in your room and the shower but communal areas and furniture are completely off limits."

“I’m glad someone in this apartment—”

“Hey Derek!” Called Stiles from where he sat in the middle of the bed, staring at something on his iPad screen, “What about this?”

Scott turned an alarming shade of green and ran from the room.

Derek just stared at Stiles and said, “Why in the hell would you want to try that with an ear of corn?”

“It’s just that—”

“No. I don’t want to hear your reasoning behind it.” Derek snatched the iPad from Stiles’ grasp, “I’m taking this from you until you can be trusted to stay away from the fanart.”

“But Derek!”

“No, Stiles, I don’t want to know what the people watching my videos imagine my dick to look like. I don’t care that they do it, in fact, I think it’s flattering. But I don’t want to see it.”

“What’s the point in being half of a canon pairing if you can’t scroll through the fanart with the bae and look at the possible sex positions?” Stiles huffed and threw himself backwards onto a mound of pillows.

“One, we discussed this, the rimming on the counter and the ear of corn are not possible sex positions. Two, I would think that this bae would be the point in being half of a canon pairing. Three, we can scroll through the comments and block all the homophobic assholes. You like doing that.”

Stiles sniffed and sat up, “You’re right. Let’s block the homophobes.”