Taut little blueberries rained down on the pancake mix and sat on top like fruity gems. The surface tension eventually gave way so that the berries would sink, but Stiles sped up the process by diving into the gooey batter with a large whisk, churning the ingredients in a slow, methodical manner. He hummed a tune that his mother used to sing while stirring pancake mix, which originally derived from the cook her family had when she was young. Stiles couldn't tell you why, but it always seemed to get him in the lazy Saturday morning mood.
"Having fun over there?" Derek asked while coating his frying pan with a transparent layer of butter for the sausages he was about to throw on.
"Sure am! And I don't care if you're gluten-free or whatever that religion is called - you are going to eat these pancakes and you are going to like them."
The alpha snorted. "You sound pretty sure of yourself."
"Of course! The Stilinski family pancake recipe has been passed down and perfected for at least three, no, five generations. I'd wake up, say hello to the handsome young lad in the mirror, turn on Ninja Turtles, and have a huge stack of them every weekend morning topped with syrup, powdered sugar, and Reeses peanut butter cups."
"And your parents wonder how you developed such terrible ADHD?"
"Hey, sugar doesn't cause Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, that's just a dirty old wive's tale." Stiles lifted his whisk, saturated with the creamy batter, and let it ooze until there wasn't so much residue left on the utensil. He then cradled the mixing bowl in his hands and went to situate himself on the counter next to the stove where Derek was working.
The werewolf picked up one of the pale, plump sausages and let it settle in the pan. A delicious tune of pops and sizzles filled the kitchen, nearly startling their Maine Coon, Xavier. Derek wasn't a huge fan of cats, but this guy was so chillaxed and low maintenance that he hardly noticed it was there.
As Stiles waited for their pancake grill to heat up, he watched the grease sputter underneath their sausages like tiny sparklers, followed by the hand pushing them around with a spatula for an even cook. His eyes trailed up Derek's arm to the rest of his unclothed form, save for a mouthwateringly tight pair of white underpants that reached mid-thigh. Even when making breakfast, that body never quit. It was even more tantalizing that working over a hot stove had created a fine sheen of sweat on the older man's tanned skin. Stiles' Saturday morning entertainment sure had changed since he was eight years old.
Derek noticed the boy staring at him and grabbed the cooking spray on his left. "Do you need this?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah! Thanks." Stiles licks his lips of the drool that had accumulated and took the can, making sure the oil covered a majority of their grill. He carefully applied the batter in medium-sized dollops, adding in a couple extra blueberries if one pancake didn't seem to have enough, and set the bowl down to wait for this first batch to… bake? Fry? How would one classify the way pancakes are made? It was pretty much a fried cake, but the texture and taste felt like it had been baked. Then again, he was using a grill to make these…
Derek had successfully browned all four sausages to perfection and scooped them out onto a plate to cool for a few minutes, moving the still searing hot pan onto the far burner so no one would accidentally touch it. He double-taked when he saw Stiles having one of his internal existential discussions with himself, which probably wasn't all that existential to begin with. The boy was chewing on his lip and had one hand rubbing his chin as if he were trying to solve calculus in his head, although the little genius accomplished this at school all the time. Derek's gaze was snagged by those two distinct moles that sat where the curve of his jaw met his neck. Ever since they had established their feelings for one another and gained a certain level of physicality, moles had become a bit of a turn on for Derek, and this morning they looked especially erotic.
The werewolf leaned down, molded his mouth over the two dark spots, and laved his tongue across them. Stiles, who had been pouring another pool of batter for their second round, jumped from the sudden contact and ended up putting a little too much on the grill. That would be one mega pancake.
"Derek!" he gasped, righting the bowl and setting it aside haphazardly. "Dude, if I had dropped that-"
"But you didn't," Derek cooed, clamping onto his neck again with more force this time, hands snaking their way around the younger man's waist in the process.
"Well give me a little w-warning next time, yeah?" He was having a tough time keeping himself from sighing into a puddle just like his pancakes.
"It's not as fun that way."
"For you… ohh…" Damn those talented hands! They knew every place where Stiles was most sensitive. And that tongue..! Blood gathered beneath the skin where Derek was softly sucking, but most of it started rushing down towards a more responsive area. Good thing he was wearing one of the alpha's long button-up's, despite the self-pitching tent that was forming at the base. "Dammit, Derek! My pancakes are gonna burn!"
"Then flip them over," he murmured while taking his treatment to the boy's ear, receiving a squirm in response.
"I can't when you're fastened to me like this!"
"Oh fine." Derek grunted and ceased in his seduction. Keeping one arm wrapped around his love, he grabbed the spatula and began turning the pancakes over with Stiles nestled against his torso. Golden brown, just like Stiles remembered.
"You are such a stubborn asshole sometimes, you know that?" The shorter man chuckled, lightly elbowing Derek in the ribs.
"Look who's talking." He smiled and kissed the bed-head fluff that Stiles woke up with earlier, keeping his mouth close as he whispered, "But don't think you're off the hook yet, Stilinski~"