Written for day 3 of my Valentine's project - a series of fluffy soulmate AUs - this year and this time not a Heart Flower AU.
"Sit."
"What?" Stiles' brows shot up, but he dropped back down on the kitchen stool anyway, slouching forwards and sliding his elbows over the island.
"Sit. Stay there." Derek's eyes narrowed, brows drawn together as he glared at Stiles.
John's own eyebrows rose as he watched them.
Stiles pouted theatrically, but Derek only snorted, turning away and pushing up the sleeves of his Henley as he pulled a small bottle out of the cupboard.
"Derek. . ." Stiles began in something perilously near a whine, lips twitching with a grin.
"Don't even try, that was awful." Derek said without turning around.
"Am I interrupting something?" John asked, sliding off his jacket.
"Hi dad!" Stiles said cheerfully, tipping his head. "Derek has opinions on hot chocolate."
"You don't make hot chocolate." Derek said, eyes narrowing as he turned towards Stiles, one hand still on the handle of the pot in front of him on the stove. "That- That foil-wrapped excuse for- It is an abomination which you dare call by the same name, but it is not hot chocolate, it is . . . it's chocolate sadness in a mug."
". . .so I see." John told his son, stifling his own amusement. He had to admit, however, that whatever Derek was doing, the kitchen smelled fantastic - like rich chocolate and sweetness.
"Would you like hot chocolate, John?" Derek asked, looking over at him. John hesitated for a moment. "There will be plenty."
"Thanks." John nodded, and Derek inclined his head, stirring the mixture in the pot. He tipped the small bottle over the pot, stirred it a few more times, and then turned off the burner and pulled the pan away.
A minute later he had three large mugs poured full, somehow not spilling any of the hot chocolate across the counter in the process, and he turned towards the island where Stiles was once more leaning across eagerly.
"Don't forget the marshmallows, Derek." Stiles wheedled, grinning.
Derek looked at him. "No." he said evenly.
"Derek!" Stiles sat upright. "There have to be marshmallows. How can you deny me marshmallows in my cocoa?"
"Proper hot chocolate deserves real marshmallows; I won't allow you to sully it with the processed crap version." Derek said as he set a steaming mug on the counter near John.
"Sully! Marshmallows, Derek, how dare you?" Stiles clutched at his chest. "How could you impugn the delicious goodness of marshmallows?" John stifled a laugh and resisted the urge to roll his eyes; his boy had always been a bit melodramatic, but it was pleasant to see him playfully so, comfortable in his own skin, with his partner.
Derek was unmoved, saved for a bit of a tick upwards at the corners of his mouth as he pushed a second mug across the island towards Stiles. "I suspect you'll live, somehow. Also we don't have any marshmallows; you and Erica ate them all while you were having your marathon of those awful werewolf superhero movies last weekend."
"Oh, right." Stiles cocked his head to one side. "I forgot about that. Aaand some of them are probably under the couch, remind me to vacuum under there later." He tugged his mug closer and leaned over it, inhaling.
"Already done." Derek said distractedly.
"Oh, awesome! I would have done it myself though I mean I just forgot." Stiles said before he lifted his mug and buried his nose in it for a hearty swig. He promptly yelped, putting it hurriedly back down on the counter and wiping at his mouth. "Ow."
"I just took it off the stove," Derek said patiently, "of course it's hot. And I didn't clear out under the couch myself, I made Erica do it."
"Oh. Well then." Stiles said, still grimacing a little from the scald to his tongue. He stuck it out and panted briefly. "That's good."
John was more careful when he tried a sip of his own. "This is very good, thank you Derek." he complimented, nodding, and Derek smiled, nodding back.
Stiles tugged at one of Derek's belt loops and brought him closer, and John took his hot chocolate and headed towards the door on the other side of the kitchen.
"Thanks, babe." Stiles caught Derek's hand and pressed a kiss to the sparking atom on his wrist, and Derek stopped at his side, hip braced against the island. "It is really good."
"I'm not sure your judgement can be trusted." Derek said dryly as John reached the stairs. "But thank you."
Their conversation fell out of earshot - at least, for human ears - as John headed upstairs to the guest room that was his own while the latest supernatural threat was being addressed. Not that he minded more time with his son, but John had mostly acquiesced to the suggestion because Stiles had become so panicky and stressed during the conversation about the danger posed to John in his own home until the magical mess was under control that he had nearly started hyperventilating.
John changed out of his uniform, then settled down with a news magazine from one of Stiles' many subscriptions, which he'd started reading the night before, to finish his hot chocolate. Eventually he remembered that he should take the mug downstairs, back to the kitchen, and then realised it looked to be nearing dinnertime. Late enough, in fact, that he was a little surprised Stiles hadn't either called him down to ask what he wanted, or at least to talk about dinner plans already made.
Leaving the mug in the sink - the other two were nowhere to be seen, though the pot was now sitting in the sink, empty - John moved through into the living room, then paused, smiling slightly.
There were the missing pair of mugs - sitting on the coffee table, just beyond where Derek had curled on the floor by Stiles' socked feet. Stiles' laptop was on the couch at his side and he was typing awkwardly on it with one hand - the other hand was buried in Derek's hair. It looked like he was asleep, head resting in Stiles' lap and one arm wrapped around his waist.
Stiles looked up, and John cleared his throat as he met his son's eyes, trying to clear the smile from his face. Stiles looked pretty sappy himself, though, fingers still gently ruffling through Derek's hair.
Derek's hand, John saw now, was actually tucked just up under Stiles' shirt by one hip, resting where John knew there was a large pawprint in a deep, brilliant blue. His soulmark.
"Hey dad. Sorry, lost track of time." Stiles said, glancing at his laptop screen, then back at John. "We should probably call for dinner." he added, but his voice was low so as not to wake his partner.
"Whenever you're ready." John said with a shrug, glancing at Derek again.
Stiles sighed, though his smile didn't waver, and tugged gently at Derek's hair as he leaned down to speak to him. John backed away, slipping into the kitchen again and out of sight, to wait for them.
Derek's opinions on the cup of chocolate sadness that is the product of cocoa mix are paraphrased from myself, and originally came up during what became a rather amusing conversation at Christmas last year with my friends.