AN-SHORT CHAPTER OF SHORT.
Sorry but I didn't want to lose momentum with this story. If I don't post something for it, I won't remember to at all.
thanks for reading.
When the newest monster of the week inevitably showed up to start eating townspeople of Beacon Hill like its favorite brand of chicken nuggets, Stiles strategically positioned himself. He knew roughly when Derek would get his head out of his ass long enough to come looking for answers. So it came as no surprise when Stiles looked up from his cutting board to find a werewolf looming over him.
"Took you long enough. Here, finish chopping this so I can stir the sauce.", Stiles delegated, not really giving Derek as option in the matter as he walked away from the partially chopped head of escarole to take care of the red sauce that was simmering away on the stove, filling the house with the soft lingering scents of spices and herbs goodness.
"You were expecting me?", Derek sounded a touch miffed but from the clink of metal against wood and the crunch of vegetable demise was chopping up the escarole.
"To use the front door like a normal person? Never.", Stiles whipped, tasting the sauce after a stir. Smacking his lips, he decided to add a touch more red pepper to it. "I need that clove of garlic and onion minced as well.".
"Not a chance. That stink will stay on my hands forever.", Derek grumbled, finishing up his task. Not knowing what to do with himself when he was done, the alpha awkwardly stood there, feeling very much out of place. The kitchen was definitely Stiles's territory and he wasn't sure where he fit in it.
"Pussywillow.", Stiles snickered, fussing over the pot for a moment longer before deciding to lower the heat just a touch.
"Werewolf.", Derek growled, tapping the side of his nose. Stiles shrugged in non answer, tackling the olfactory offending vegetables instead.
"How are you today?", Stiles asked, wrinkling his nose at the garlic as he minced. He looked up when he was answered with silence to find Derek looking at him with a strange, furrowed look on his face.
"What are you doing?", Derek said slowly and with great care like he was trying to figure Stiles out, who wasn't worried about it. His own father had been trying to do that since birth.
"Attempting to have a civil conversation.", Stiles threw Derek a smile just to mess with him. "Do you want bowties or strings?".
Derek continued to look uneasy, the werewolf shifting his weight from foot to foot. "What are you making?", he answered eventually like it was almost against his will, the words coming out at a verbal crawl.
"Secret sauce.", Stiles snorted, "And you call yourself a werewolf. It's marinara."
"Another Grangran Stilinski secret recipe?", Derek rolled his eyes. Stiles wondered if the alpha was going to hurt himself doing that gesture one day.
"Don't mock. I could tell that my crockpot was licked clean.", Stiles said to an answering look of surprise. He had meant it as a joke, but if Derek's sudden uncomfortable expression was anything to go by, Stiles wasn't too far from the mark. It took physically painful effort on Stile's part to not comment or bust out laughing as he leaned in to slice and dice his onion.
"You can have some when it's done but you need to pick your pasta poison.", Stiles managed to say instead. He didn't want Derek to think he was mocking him. "I'll look up your freak of the week when I'm done here.".
"Bowties.", Derek said softly after a few moments. If it had been anyone else, Stiles would have said that his answer sounded shy and uncertain.