Derek walks into the house, several pizzas precariously balanced against his chest with one hand, while the other hand freezes on the doorknob as the sound of rapidly escalating voices hits him.
"You're crazy!"
That's Stiles, of course, deep voice pitched high in indignation, something Derek has become all too familiar with over the past decade.
"Please," huffs Erica, loudly. "You're just butt-hurt because nobody cares about your opinion!"
"Who even says butt-hurt anymore?" Isaac drawls. Derek imagines he has his judging smirk out in full force. He's probably wearing one of the scarves Boyd made during his short-lived knitting phase, regardless of the fact that it's 60 degrees out, and he's indoors.
"Shut up, Isaac!" Stiles and Erica shout at the same time, Erica's voice ending with more than a slight growl.
Derek decides that maybe it's time to intervene, before his pack tears each other apart over…whatever it is they're arguing about.
"Pizza!" he calls out, as if most of the people in his living room couldn't smell both him and the pizza as soon as he walked in.
He kicks the door shut behind him and makes his way down the hallway to the sprawling family room/den that his pack seems to spend all their time in.
.
Derek barely manages to stop the laugh that threatens to come out when the others come into view. Stiles is sprawled on the carpet, Erica sitting primly on his chest, legs crossed like a preschooler at story time, and a wicked grin on her face.
"Just admit it," she says, poking one long red fingernail against Stiles' cheek to aggravate him.
"Never!" Stiles sputters, trying to bite at her finger unsuccessfully.
"Do I even want to know?" Derek asks, stepping over Stiles' legs to put the pizzas on the coffee table. Isaac immediately reaches for a box, pulling it onto his lap and grinning, before going back to watching the Stiles and Erica show.
He is, in fact, wearing a scarf. It's soft and the same color blue as his eyes, the ends only a little bit uneven where they dangle across his chest. Boyd had still been learning, but Isaac still loves every single scarf he was gifted.
"They're fighting about the best Christmas movies," Boyd says, coming down the stairs from one of the spare rooms, straight from a nap if his rumpled clothes and sleep-soft eyes are any indication. "They woke me up."
Stiles and Erica both freeze at that, matching guilty looks on their faces.
"Whoops," Stiles says, managing to look contrite for nearly ten whole seconds, before going back to glaring at Erica.
"I'm sorry, babe," Erica says to Boyd. "But, he was just so wrong. I mean, Bad Santa was funny, but the best? Not even close."
"Miracle on 34th Street was so boring!" Stiles defends, "what do I care if Virginia believes in Santa Claus?!"
"I like Love Actually," Boyd cuts in, deciding he might as well join the madness.
"That movie is depressing as shit," Isaac says, waiting until Boyd gets comfortable on the couch before kicking his feet up into his lap.
Boyd rolls his eyes but otherwise ignores the feet for now.
Derek decides to sit on the arm-chair kitty-corner from the couch, settling in still watching Erica and Stiles with amusement.
"I have to agree with Isaac," he says. "It's too sad to be a real Christmas movie."
"But it takes place during Christmas," Stiles points out casually, as if an entire human person wasn't sitting on his chest and definitely maybe restricting his breathing.
"Still," Derek says. "It's depressing. People want to be cheered up during the holidays."
.
Before anyone can argue, the door opens again, Allison coming in, Scott right behind her. Rosie, their not-quite three year old daughter, is wrapped up in Scott's arms, half-asleep against his neck.
"What's depressing?" he asks, looking down at Erica and Stiles before shrugging and passing the sleepy toddler to Erica. Who is very much still sitting on Stiles' ribs.
"Jacka-butt," Stiles says, just barely catching himself before cursing in front of the child.
Scott just grins unashamedly at him, disappearing into the kitchen to find plates, Allison following to help carry. Or more likely to have a few minutes to canoodle with Scott without a toddler climbing all over them.
.
"Save me!" Stiles mock-cries, looking up at Derek with pleading eyes.
Derek considers leaving him there for a moment, after all, it's his own stubbornness that gets him into these situations. But those damn eyes get him every time.
"Don't make me use the Alpha voice, Erica," he sighs. "Get off of Stiles before he hurts himself."
"No fun," Erica pouts, but she unwraps her legs gracefully and finally climbs off of Stiles, Rosie now completely asleep against her chest.
"You're lucky you're so cute," she tells the drooling toddler, brushing her hair back from her little face. "I love this shirt."
.
.
"Finally!" Stiles says, getting up and stretching out his sore limbs, before walking over and plopping himself down right into Derek's lap.
"I'm injured," he explains, settling himself back against Derek's chest. "I need cuddles."
"You're not hurt," Derek scoffs, wrapping an arm around his waist all the same.
"My pride is!" Stiles says. "I was incapacitated by a 110 pound girl who didn't even break a sweat!"
"She has supernatural strength, dumbass," Derek teases him, nuzzling the back of his neck.
"My pride never claimed to be rational, Derek."
Derek just tolls his eyes and doesn't bother responding.
"So… are we going to eat?" Allison asks, as she and Scott reappear with plates and drinks.
Derek hides his smile against Stiles' neck, and lets the familiar sound of his squabbling pack put him at ease as they settle in for dinner.
.
.
Late that night, after everyone else has finally gone home, Derek finds himself lying on the couch, Stiles wrapped around him, comfortably squished between him and the soft leather. Stiles has the remote in one hand, idly scrolling through the listings, looking for a movie to watch.
"We're just going to fall asleep, anyway," Derek points out, eyes already closed. He can't help it, though. Stiles is just so warm and solid behind him, with the reassuring weight of his other hand splayed against Derek's chest.
"Shh," Stiles scolds mildly, "I'm trying to find Bad Santa."
Derek laughs, but still doesn't open his yes.
"It's not even that funny," he says, smiling as he can practically smell Stiles' indignation.
"Please," Stiles scoffs. "I bet your favorite Christmas movie is The Grinch!"
He pauses his scrolling to bop Derek lightly on the nose with the remote.
"It's not my heart that grows three sizes when you're around," Derek replies, so dryly that it takes even Stiles a moment to really hear what he'd said.
When it finally hits him, he laughs so hard that Derek nearly goes flying off the couch, saved only by his werewolf reflexes and Stiles' legs wrapped around his own.
"Oh my god," Stiles wheezes, and Derek has to open his eyes and turn around then, laughing quietly at Stiles and his tear-streaked and blotchy face.
"I've known you for ten years," Stiles says, when he's finally calmed down, "and been boning you on the regular for at least four of those…"
"Give or take," Derek inputs, wrinkling his nose at the thought of "the summer of 2020 when they were both stupid that they don't acknowledge." The name, admittedly, needs work.
"Give or take," Stiles allows, nodding. "But I have literally, and I mean literally literally, never heard you make a joke about your dick before! Jesus, I didn't think you had it in you!"
"No," Derek agrees, mildly, waiting just long enough to make sure Stiles is completely calmed down before finishing his thought. "But you definitely have."
No sound comes out of Stile's mouth as he laughs this time, he just flops his head down against Derek's neck and shakes silently.
Derek holds him close as he laughs and shakes, lets him get it out of his system.
"You're ridiculous," he tells him then, brushing the wet tear tracks from Stiles' face with the sleeve of his sweater. It leaves a little trail of fuzzy blue pieces along Stiles' cheek, and Derek finds himself grinning stupidly at him, this strange boy that he just loves so damn much.
"I love you," he tells him, so much easier than it was four years ago, almost effortless now.
Stiles stops his squirming and grins, shuffling around so that Derek is lying on his back and he is sprawled on top of him, perfectly aligned. He props himself up, elbows resting on the couch, and leans his head down to kiss Derek soundly, so sweetly that Derek doesn't even need to hear the words.
"Love you, too" he says anyway. "Even if your movie choices are bad, and you should feel bad."
"You don't even know my favorite Christmas movie," Derek says, just to be contrary. He'd watch anything Stiles wanted to, as long as they didn't have to move.
"The Santa Clause," Stiles replies, smirking at Derek's shocked expression.
"You have the VHS, Derek. It's been like twenty years since they even made any VHS tapes, never mind The Santa Clause. You went out to a thrift store and bought a video cassette, even though you don't even have a VCR. That's how much you love that movie."
He grins widely at the end of his little speech, and Derek has to bite his lip at the sudden surge of affection he feels for his beautiful asshole of a boyfriend.
"I bought it on Ebay," he says, instead. "The Salvation Army is gross."
"As a building, and as an organization," Stiles agrees.
"I didn't think you'd notice my movies," Derek admits, tugging Stiles down so he's lying completely on top of him, face resting against his shoulder.
"Have we met?" Stiles says, muffled a little by Derek's skin and cozy sweater.
"We have," Derek says, scratching lightly at Stile's back in soothing lines. "Which is why I know that Bad Santa is not your favorite Christmas movie."
.
"Lies!" Stiles gasps, "lies and untruths!"
"Frosty the snowman...was a jolly happy soul…" Derek sings softly, smirking when Stiles goes stock-still against him.
"How did you know?!" he asks, scent going bittersweet.
"Because you get this scent every time you flip past it on TV this time of year," Derek explains. "It's like you love what you're remembering, but it still hurts to think about.
"My mom," Stiles admits. "We used to watch it together when I was little. I cried every time Frosty melted, even though I knew he would come back. She'd laugh after the first few years, but always gave me an extra hug before bed anyway."
"It's ok to miss the people we love," Derek says, tilting his head to kiss Stiles' forehead where it rests against his shoulder.
"Look at you," Stiles laughs softly, "all grown up and well adjusted. Sixteen year old me would never believe it!"
"Sixteen year old you was a menace," Derek scoffs. "I like this you a lot better."
"You loooove this me," Stiles corrects, wriggling against him happily.
"Yeah, yeah," Derek says, but he's smiling. He finds he does that a lot these days.
"You love my dick, too," Stiles points out, lightening the mood. "Even if it doesn't grow three sizes."
"Which I'm grateful for," Derek points out, "as much as I love both you and your dick, nothing three sizes bigger than it would be going anywhere near my ass."
"I am also glad your dick does not actually grow three sizes. I'm only human," Stiles adds.
"Come on," Derek says, nudging Stiles. "That's enough dick talk for one night, let's go to bed."
"Ooh!" Stiles perks up, only slightly squishing Derek's organs as he gets up. "Less dick talk, more dick action?"
Derek sighs and shakes his head, but allows Stiles to grab his hand and lead him to their bedroom.
Honestly, he's in love with a dumbass. But he wouldn't have it any other way.
.
The End.