Author's Notes:
Warning: This story contains graphic male/male/male sexual content. Please be advised that if you aren't interested in that flavor of deliciousness that the story probably isn't for you. The next part of this will be available later tonight. It's unbeta'd, because I'm a terrible lazy person, hopefully it's still fun.
I haven't been around writing for awhile, or rather I haven't been posting what I have been writing. For everyone who's been following me, I greatly apologize for that, and I hope that what I have in store for you over the next week will go a little ways towards making up for that. Check my profile for more information.
This is part two of 'A Gift for a Boy who has Everything', one year after their first Christmas together.
I own no part of Teen Wolf, I make no money from this. It's just a bit of fun.
Jackson took one careful step at a time down the staircase. He crouched with his head below the level of the banister. The soft carpet covering the stairs was slightly chilled, and he regretted not pulling on a pair of socks. He nearly jumped out of his skin when icy fingers traced up his sides and buried themselves in his armpits. He bit back a squeal of alarm, and cast his gaze accusingly at Stiles on the stairs behind him.
"Stiles, what the hell?" he whispered.
Stiles shrugged, but didn't pull his hands back. "My fingers are cold, unlike all the werewolf furnaces that live here I only have a thin layer of skin and a thinner layer of muscle keeping me warm."
Jackson shook his head. He couldn't even imagine how ridiculous they looked crouched on the stairs, both wearing just boxers. It probably would have been wise to put something else on to ward off the chill air of Derek's house. He opened his mouth to suggest they go back to get more clothing, but was cut off by a metallic crash and a string of particularly bitter curses.
Stiles mouthed 'what the hell?' and hunkered down further behind Jackson. He smelled of peppermint, and Derek's clothes. Jackson felt power well up in his eyes as the scent dug at his base instincts. He wanted to take Stiles back to bed, but no, Stiles was having none of that. He had to know what Derek was wrecking in the kitchen. They couldn't just hang out in bed waiting for Derek to come back from whatever midnight errand he was on.
Jackson shrugged, turned and continued making his way down the stairs. "Why are we doing this again?"
Stiles's fingernails scrapped lightly against Jackson's skin as he wiggled his fingers. "Because we need to find out what Derek is destroying. If it's one of our Christmas presents he better have a backup prepared."
"You'll be lucky if you get anything, it's not like you've been very good this year." The scent of raw eggs, sugar, milk, and flour wafted from the hallway that led around to the kitchen. Jackson was baffled. It would be pretty silly if Derek was trying to make breakfast. Christmas day was the only day of the year Stiles willingly woke up early for, but food before 1am was a bit silly.
"Derek likes it when I'm naughty. That means I get more presents." The sound of Stiles licking his lips sent a chill down Jackson's spine. "You like it too don't you, Jackson?"
There was no dignified way to respond to that question, especially when he was starting to get hard. Not like his boxers offered any modesty. "Shut up." Jackson turned to look back, knowing that Stiles would have a goofy smirk on his face.
He wasn't wrong, soft lips turned up at the edges, still moist from the tongue that had just flicked across them. Jackson took a deep breath, reveled for a moment in Stiles's scent. It was wound up tight with nervousness, excitement, and a rising edge of arousal. Jackson hooked his fingers into the waistband of Stiles's underwear, drew him forward until they were nose to nose. Stiles took a shaky breath, body trembling in the dark.
"Jack—"
Jackson placed a finger over Stiles's lips, leaned in and brushed his nose along a flushed cheek. He ran his other hand up over Stiles's neck. Their lips were so close, Jackson wanted to taste Stiles, but before he could another crash shattered the moment. Derek's temper was a legendary cock block. Some things never changed.
"Come on," Jackson muttered.
"But kisses? And stuff?" Stiles leaned forward, puffed out an indignant breath as Jackson's hand covered his face. "Harrmarggenm," he mumbled into the palm against his mouth.
Without bothering to respond to the nonsense Jackson turned away. He crept further down the hall, occasionally having to smack at Stiles's hands as they tried to curl into the back of his boxers. Jackson winced as too sensitive werewolf hearing picked up more metal clanging against metal. Was Derek preparing for a battle? Had a new enemy appeared in Beacon Hills? Fire churned in his gut, he clasped one of Stiles's hands.
A small roiling cloud of white poured out of the kitchen towards them. Jackson stepped in front of Stiles. The two ran the last few feet, Jackson let go of Stiles's hand, claws sprouted from his fingers, fangs extended. Derek was near the oven; he turned and let out a roar. Stiles shrank back against the wall. Jackson coughed as another cloud of white enveloped him. He held his breath, afraid that whatever chemicals were in the smoke would poison him.
He looked around for the threat, but there was no one there but the three of them. Stiles suddenly started laughing. Jackson turned and raised an eyebrow. Was it laughing gas? That seemed like an odd choice to assault an Alpha werewolf in his own home.
"He's trying to cook," Stiles wheezed out between fits of giggles.
Jackson turned to look back at Derek. He was covered in white powder, in flour. Jackson's mouth went slack, claws and fangs faded away. "Cooking?"
"Forget it," Derek growled. He hurled a mixing bowl into the far wall near the refrigerator. "I give up."
"Aw, honey, you shouldn't have." Stiles nudged a half shredded bag of flour with his foot. "If you were that desperate for a cake you could have just asked me.
Derek stared daggers at Stiles, who stepped behind Jackson. His body was shaking, and he had one knuckle in his mouth to stifle the laughter. Jackson shook his head. Derek was wearing grey athletic shorts, and an awfully thick layer of powder. His glowing red eyes made the whole thing so preposterous that Jackson couldn't even laugh.
"D-do you want a towel?" Stiles grabbed the one he'd used to dry the dishes after dinner. He extended it over Jackson's shoulder. "You know how these work right? It's not nearly as complicated as that crafty spatula you were using to try to—and I use the term lightly—bake."
Derek stalked across the kitchen, eyes locked on Stiles. Jackson tried to move out of the way, but Stiles grabbed his boxers. Derek darted forward. Great, that's just what Jackson needed, an upset Derek in his face, and Stiles's cold fingers in his underwear. He barely had time to let out a sigh before the impact. Another tiny cloud of flour and sugar exploded into the air as the three of them banged into the wall.
Derek's body was edging towards feverishly hot. Jackson leaned his head back, resting it on Stiles's shoulder, a tiny whine pulled out of his throat from having Derek so close to him. There were worse ways to spend Christmas than being pinned between the two of them.