When the Sheriff stepped out of his cruiser Derek sighed, ducking his head. Next to him, Stiles beamed and waved cheerily at his father. "Yo, Pops!"
"Shut up, Stiles," Derek growled, elbowing him sharply. "We're already fucked enough as it is."
"Not yet, we're not," Stiles returned, waggling his eyebrows, and Derek choked on the snort that bubbled up in his throat. "Besides, it's my dad. You know how many times we've played this song and dance routine out?"
As the Sheriff approached them, one eyebrow raised, Derek swallowed his groan. "You know, Hale, I anticipate this kind of behavior from my son. You, however, I expect better from."
Stiles shrugged, bumping one shoulder against Derek's. "It's not like he's never been in cuffs before, Dad."
"Stiles!" Derek hissed. "These are the kinds of things we keep private!"
Stiles burst into laughter. "Holy God, Derek, I was talking about when he arrested you!"
Derek's and John's faces both burned bright pink as Stiles wrapped his arms around his waist and shook so hard with laughter that he had tears streaming down his face. "Come on you two," John prodded, nudging Stiles' shoulder with his knee until he melodramatically pulled himself to his feet.
"I'll see you at home?" Stiles offered, and John smirked at him.
"I'll see you in the cruiser," he retorted, a hand on Stiles' shoulder guiding him in the direction of the vehicle. "I'm taking you both to the station."
Derek glared at Stiles as he gaped at his father. "You've never taken me in!" he protested.
"Right, and maybe I should have done it a long time ago," John grumbled. "If I had, you might have stopped pulling this shit years ago."
When Stiles balked at the open back door, Derek shoved him forward, smirking a little when he banged his shoulder on the edge of the window. Stiles tossed a wounded look over his shoulder and Derek rolled his eyes. "Get in," he snapped. "The sooner we get there, the sooner we can go home."
Stiles crawled into the back seat, muttering under his breath while he rubbed at his shoulder. Derek gave him a flat stare and Stiles flushed as he realized Derek could hear every unflattering word crystal-clear.
The ride to the station took less than five minutes, and when they got there John shepherded them inside. Without so much as a word he pulled out a pair of cuffs, snapping one link around Derek's wrist and the other around Stiles'. "Dad!" Stiles squawked, tugging at the cuff in disbelief. Derek glowered at him as his left arm was yanked around while Stiles' right arm flailed. "How could you do this to me? I'm your son, your flesh and blood!"
"Yes, and as such, I've failed you by not making you wear one of those on a daily basis," John scoffed. "Maybe now you'll learn a lesson." He glanced away as one of his deputies walked up with a form that needed signing. He scrawled his signature on it and turned to continue his lecture, but was stopped in his tracks at the sight in front of him.
Derek and Stiles had turned in toward each other on the bench, their knees pressed together as they leaned in and nuzzled each other. Their cuff-connected hands were raised, their faces close enough that each had one hand on the other's cheek without pulling on the cuffs. Derek brushed his lips lightly over Stiles', who wrapped his free hand around Derek's neck and pulled him in closer, their mouths joining gently, unhurriedly.
John groaned, a look of dismay on his face. "Ah hell, son, I don't want to see that. Besides, this is supposed to be a punishment." They broke apart, Derek coloring slightly while Stiles grinned cheekily.
He winked at Derek. "Don't worry, Dad, I'm sure Derek is going to punish me later."
John and Derek growled simultaneously. "Stiles!"