For Tori.
Stiles stretched, his bones popping and muscles quivering with the movement until he felt lax and warm. Watery light filtered in through the window, through slightly parted curtains the color of midday clouds; he was sated, content and a bit drowsy. His stomach growled a little and he huffed into the pillow, not wanting to get up to make breakfast because he was perfectly fine in his current spot; nudged up tight in Derek's side, pressed back gently into pillows and tangled sheets, bed clothes tousled around their legs and pooling around their hips, slipping just slightly.
Another soft lurch of his stomach had him wriggling out of Derek's heavy hold on him, arms limp and pliant as he crawled out of the bed and started silently searching for his boxers. He couldn't find them and ended up shimming into a pair of Derek's sweatpants, the drawstring had been pulled out so they hung dangerously low on his hips and while walking downstairs to the kitchen he held onto the waistband with one hand, the other held out in case he tripped from the awkward gait.
It had been years before Derek finally got the house back; it had been county owned and he had to file paperwork after paperwork, sign documents, send in down payments and got a little help from the sheriff when Stiles begged for a whole month straight until finally Derek was the owner of the Hale house again and the surrounding property as it was meant to be his. Work on the house started up soon after, contractors coming out to visit the property until Derek agreed on one and then demolition crews and construction workers came out and basically tore down and gutted the foundation and literally built it from the ground up all over again. The finished product was a ghost of what the old house had been, but so much more; full of life, energy, humming during the holidays and happily silent when it was just Derek and Stiles at home.
Now was one of those happy but silent times, where everyone was away but still close enough to be a functioning pack. Working, going to university, raising tiny families and being happy, the way things should have been always. Stiles stopped in the hallway leading into the kitchen to look at a candid photo Isaac had taken during Thanksgiving a year or so before, when everyone was trying to find a seat at the table and found out they were one chair short and someone made a joke about lap-sitting resulting in either laughs or shocked faces. The photo was beautiful, a memory Stiles cherished like all the other photographs on the walls.
Isaac had started the tradition; carrying around a camera and snapping shots here and there and buying odd, mismatching frames and putting them on the walls in the hallway. There was barely an open patch of paint anymore as soon Erica and Boyd started hanging up their own photos, of their daughter, of the day Erica graduated with her bachelor's and of their first home-a tiny thing that suited them well. Even Jackson and Lydia submitted a photo or two, mainly of their overseas home and the places they visited. There was a picture somewhere nearer the kitchen with Derek and the sheriff in fishing vests standing in a river with Derek flailing and the sheriff caught between shock and hilarity-Stiles fingered the frame of the photo and laughed, the memory rushing through his mind as he looked it over and smiled. The sheriff had suggested a camping trip for the holiday weekend and the three of them drove up into the mountains where a popular fishing river ran through, a place the sheriff loved to fly fish at. He had been teaching Derek the art of casting all morning and Derek has just set his first successful cast all on his own when Stiles told them to turn around and smile. Derek had gotten half way into his turn when he slipped and fell butt-first into the river. Stiles has the following moments of Derek sputtering and trying to catch his pole in a special album upstairs where Derek doesn't know it's hidden and safe, a good weapon to bring out to show people when he wants to make Derek blush and scrabble through embarrassment and swelling affection.
By the time Stiles reached the kitchen he was just floating, his heart humming with memories that he'd made with the pack, his family, with Derek. They were functional, they were thriving and they were happy, so happy. His mind was just lulling through more memories, recalling this or that instance and chuckling randomly into the quiet room, hands working through the pantry trying to find some pancake mix or maybe some cereal. His fingers pushed aside a container of baking cocoa and he froze.
Brownies sounded delicious right now... brownies for breakfast... he was so doing this. And why not? Adults could eat brownies for breakfast and he was so an adult! He'd make Derek a brownie, too, and feed him back up in the room-it was so going to happen!
Smug with his plan he pulled out two mugs and began mixing individual batches of brownies so that they'd each have one brownie-cup. He was pushing the cook time into the microwave when he felt the hands rub against his naked sides, warmth pooling in his face and belly at the surprising touches.
"Oh-sorry if I woke you." he mumbled and looked over his shoulder at a drowsy alpha, hair ruffled and sticking up in weird places, odd angles. "I was making breakfast."
"Are those brownies?" Derek quirked a sleepy brow and looked over Stiles' shoulder.
"My special brownie-cups." Stiles confirmed with a smug nod.
"Brownies... for breakfast..."
"Yeah, why not? I mean haven't you ever heard of 'Dad is great. He give us some chocolate cake'?"
"Hm..." Derek was nosing into Stiles' hairline behind his ear, sniffing and flicking the shell of Stiles' ear with a hot tongue.
ding!
Stiles jerked, the two minutes up for the brownie cups. He opened the microwave door and pulled them out carefully, still mildly burning his fingers from the hot ceramic. "Youch!" he hissed and brought up a finger to suck on.
Behind him Derek gasped and gripped into his hips, tongue laving over the back of his neck and making the hairs stand on end. The sweats were sliding down, falling and Stiles bit back a groan when he realized the alpha was standing behind him without a stitch of clothing on his body-he could feel Derek's length pressing into a globed cheek, the rutting Derek was doing pushing the fabric of the sweats up and down into his smooth skin.
"N-Derek, the brownies!" Stiles whined, his hands gripping the edge of the counter to steady himself.
The kitchen smelled like fluffy chocolate.
"They have to cool down." Derek whispered into his shoulder and drew out a long shiver from Stiles, flesh vibrating from every brush of Derek's lips.
Leave it to Derek to have coherent, plausible thoughts that made all sorts of sense in the same breath as whispering filth into his wet ear. Derek was rutting into Stiles' rear, rocking them until Stiles was hard and humping into the edge of the counter. But this was heaven, bliss, paradise, Nirvana, whatever other name anyone could ever think of; that's what this was for Stiles.
Derek was pushing down the sweatpants easily, his hands pushing and pulling and spreading and squeezing in all this delicious movement that had Stiles panting and bending over the counter, his body reacting to Derek's touches in the only way it knew how. He could feel a slicked digit press against his hole and for a moment it only circled him, pressing flatly there before pushing in easily. He was still stretched from the night romp they had and a second finger slid in just as easily, slick with Derek's saliva and pumping into him with a slow rhythm.
"You're already-"
"Yeah-yes." Stiles bit out. He was ready, more than ready! Fuck, he was always ready for Derek.
"Good. That's good." Derek whispered to him and pulled his fingers back with a wet sound followed by a whine from Stiles. "Because I'm going to fuck you now..."
And he did. Derek was sliding into Stiles expertly, knowing just how fast he could go without it hurting, knew how to cant his hips to hit Stiles right over his prostrate and rub into it, over it and slide in to the base so that Stiles was being shoved against the counter side. He was moving only after a few seconds, reading the way Stiles' heart was beating, the way Stiles choked on a moan that always signaled he was feeling how good this felt, how awesomely smooth the slide of Derek moving in and out of him was.
Stiles' hands gripped onto the counter edge until Derek grabbed him around the chest and pulled him up, chest to back and changing the angle he was thrusting into his ass. He felt a thrill, a surge of pleasure sizzle up his spine like a flammable chord being struck with a match. His hands left the counter and gripped onto Derek's forearms, digging in and bruising him shallowly, repeatedly marking his otherwise flawless skin.
"I love doing this-finding you in the house and fucking you whenever I want." Derek tells him between thrusts, his voice jumping when he feels Stiles clench down on him.
"I love it, I love it!" Stiles repeats, his head thrown back in ecstasy as their bodies slick against each other, his hips trying push down to meet Derek's, to get him deeper. "I just love it when you surprise me, when you-ah-when you make me scream and I can't stop making noises and you-you leave marks and-" he sobs as Derek changes his angle and starts hitting over his prostrate over and over again, causing these tiny lights to dance on the edge of Stiles' vision. He can't speak anymore, can't think, just says Derek's name over and over again like saying it might help bring him back into focus but it doesn't-never does. His voice is gaining in volume and before he can gasp to try and catch his breath he's coming, Derek never touching him.
Cum spurts out onto the countertop, onto the lower cabinets and Derek reaches around to stroke him through the last few seconds of it. With Derek rubbing the last of his orgasm out of him he feels something fill him up, feels the cum dribble out after Derek pulls out with a 'schlick' and leans heavily onto the counter, back and neck sore from the arching. Derek makes quick work in wiping them down with a wet kitchen towel, cleans up the mess on the counter and lower cabinets, and tosses it into the laundry room off to the side. Stiles is already picking up the mugs of brownies and is shuffling to the stairs, sweat pants kicked off entirely and left in the kitchen, with Derek's side as a crutch.
They make it to the bed by some miracle and flop onto it in heaps of limbs and sighs until they've arranged their bodies next to each other, close and warm and humming things to each other. They've moved passed the point of verbal conversation and use subtle glances to eat and feed each other the cup brownies. When the cups are almost finished Stiles finally grumbles that he's full, that he's tired again, so they set the cups on the nightstand nearest Derek's side of the bed and burrow under the covers so they can sleep and breathe in each other, arms thrown about and legs tangled.
"Thanks for breakfast." Derek mumbles into Stiles' cheek.
"Thanks for dessert." Stiles returns.