Pomegranate Oil

A/N: Inspired when I was randomly browsing Teen Wolf fics and saw a summery about massages… And then remembered the really nice massage oil I had that smelled like Pomegranates…

Enjoy!

Summery: Helping out is all Stiles can do when he's waiting for the food to finish cooking.

CHAPTER BEGINS

The Hale House had been renovated, and, while lacking essential furniture, it was all top-of-the-line in the kitchen, with stainless steel fridge and massive pantry and, God, the oven! Stiles had almost had a cooking-orgasm, he'd been so happy, and Derek had sent him the weirdest look and left him to do his thing in order to bring in the groceries, because if he left Stiles to bring them in, it would take him forever. There were a lot of groceries… And it made Stiles a little uncomfortable, sometimes, letting Derek buy so much, but the man would just stare at him if he mentioned it, and then say something like "It's for the Pack" or something like that, and Stiles would be left with that warm, fuzzy feeling, and still a little bit of guilt. As he darted around the gorgeous kitchen (and he could admit it, he might have made some manly sounds of appreciation over some of the things there. They were not squeals, though. Not at all.), putting away food and generally organizing everything, he found himself feeling comfortable, even though he would be the only one in the Hale House with Derek for the next couple of hours, at least.

When the last of the bags were carried in, Stiles had even more fun, because Derek let him babble out orders about where the Alpha needed to put things, and Derek followed them! God, but it was a total power trip, and no wonder Peter and Derek got all growly when someone didn't obey them, because-ohmygod he needed to switch mental topics quick before his teenage libido decided to pop in and say hello, because he just knew Derek would smell that and Jesus but he would die of embarrassment…

"Curried Spareribs!" He blurted; Derek paused in putting a large jar of pure honey away and arched an eyebrow at him. Stiles blushed and cleared his ribs. "I think I'll make Curried Spareribs tonight," he said simply. "Since I have a few hours before the hoard gets here and everything… How many pork spareribs did you get, since you bought, like, a bit of everything from the meat section, including tongue?" He asked; Derek shrugged, reached into his pocket and pulled out the receipt… Which, if Stiles had to guess, was at least four feet long. Stiles took it and started looking over everything humming thoughtfully. "Three one pound spareribs will be four servings if I cook them this way," he murmured to himself, pursing his lips. "You bought eight," he shot the Werewolf a scolding glance, and was ignored. "That'll feed everyone, and leave me with some I can take home to Dad for dinner, while leaving you with extra… Unless we don't cook them all… Maybe just cook six of them; that would be best, I think, and when I get home I can whip something quick up for Dad's meal and something up for his lunch tomorrow… Hmm…" He continued to glance over the long list, mind speeding over recipes. He misread one of the things and had to snort when he mentally fixed it. At Derek's raised eyebrow he smiled faintly.

"I though it said 'cat'," he told the Alpha, "and the first thing that popped into mind was the recipe my creep, countrified Uncle Bobby taught me, Curbside Cat, which is where you use and actual cat, clean and skin it like a squirrel, stuff the empty insides with a dressing, roast it for an hour after draping the back with bacon, and then make the drippings into a gravy. My Aunt Natelie never forgave him for serving us her pet cat Poopsie, but it was bound to die sooner or later with a name like that, anyways…" He shrugged. "Needed more salt," he muttered, and started browsing through the list again. "Anyways, it was a funny memory, is all…" He pursed his lips and steadfastly ignored the bizarre look he was getting from the Alpha, in favor of thinking over meals.

"I think a plain salad with dressing choices would be fine," he murmured, tilting his head. "I'm feeling a little lazy in that area. And a baked potato with choice of toppings, too… I'll put some effort into dessert, though… A Lady Baltimore Cake would work nicely, with some homemade vanilla ice cream as a side… Yeah, that'll do it." He nodded firmly, flashed a grin at Derek, and began puttering around the kitchen, getting out all the required ingredients for the Curried Spareribs first. He'd do the cake after that, and then the potatoes, and then do the salad last. He did have a good four hours, after all.

He got out two thirteen-by-nine-by-two pans, covered them in foil and sprayed them with Pam, before setting the six Spareribs in, pleased he wouldn't have to wait for them to thaw. He set the over for three-hundred-fifty degrees and then covered the ribs in foil tightly, and waited for the Pre-Heat beeper to go off. When it finally did, he slid the meat into the oven (Okay, and he'll admit his mind jumped to perverted thoughts of putting meat in ovens… But then it went to bread in that oven, and having to wake up at, like, two-thirty in the morning on a school- or work-night and having to take care of said loaf, and its safe to say he sent his thoughts away to less-traumatizing thoughts. He had enough children to take care of at the moment, thank you!). He then set the timer for an hour-and-a-half and then quickly tossed the required amount of brown sugar, mustard, vinegar, water, curry powder, and garlic powder into a saucepan and stirred it slowly for three minutes, before pouring it all into a bowl and setting it in the fridge (which was thankfully fully operational, having been on for the last two days), and reminded himself to microwave it when the time came.

That all done, he turned with the vague thought of maybe starting early on the Lady Baltimore Cake, or the salad, but stopped when he noticed something. Derek was putting what remained of the groceries away, but whenever he lowered his arms, he would, unconsciously it seemed, roll his shoulders, as if they ached. Stiles frowned and glanced at the clock, then the timer, mind bouncing from one thought to another before an idea popped forth like a squirrel on speed, and he moved towards the cabinet beside the oven, opening it and pulling out a very large (and very expensive) bottle of pomegranate oil. It was rarely used, but the likelihood of ever seeing it at their towns store again in the near future had been slim-to-improbable, so he had managed to puppy-dog-eye Derek into buying three bottles of the stuff…

Hey, he was buying a bit of everything anyways! Kinda like one of those weird hillbilly billionaire shows Stiles Dad saw sometimes, or something, only Derek bought useful stuff… Well, useful to the Pack, and to Stiles and, hey, hold up, was that chocolate he just put in the cabinet? Jesus, Scott'll have that sniffed out five minutes flat! What was he thinking, with his buying of chocolaty goodness and hiding it in the cabinet?

But, no, wait, what was he doing again?

…Oh! He remembered now!

"Derek, stop that for a bit and come in here," he called as he headed for the large, empty space of the living room, where a thick quilt Allison had given Derek as a Home Warming Gift was spread out on the polished wood floor. Derek loomed up behind him and he turned and put his hands on his hips, trying to look as stern as he could under the unamused glower of the Alpha.

"Shirt off," he said firmly; Derek gave him a hard look, glower deepening. "You've messed up a muscle or something in your back. I'm going to give you a massage to put it to rights. So: Shirt. Off. And lay down on your stomach on the floor, will you?" He just stood there, staring at Stiles, and Stiles made and annoyed huff and crossed his arms, lifting an eyebrow. "Do it or no dessert for you, Sourwolf," he threatened…

And squeaked when he suddenly found himself with a faceful of Alpha-shirt. Yanking it away and tossing it on the floor, he turned to glower at the older man, who was stretched out on the floor, arms crossed lazily under his chin, and huffed irritably. Carefully, he knelt down, a knee on either side of Derek's hip, holding him up, and opened the bottle of pomegranate oil, ignoring the way Derek took a deep breath and then growled at him.

"It's good for sore muscles," he told the Wolf, who just growled at him, and he rolled his eyes. "Oh, deal with it, I could have gone and gotten a girly lotion from Lydia and used that. I still could do that. Your choice, Sourwolf." The growl slowly subsided, and Derek huffed, and Stiles grinned cheerfully, just knowing that the Werewolf was glaring holes at the floor a few feet in front of him. "Pomegranate it is, then!" He poured some into his hand, humming happily at the smell, before setting the bottle carefully to the side and rubbing his hands slowly together to warm the oil a bit. After a few moments, he set his hands against the middle of Derek's back, and got to work, kneading and rolling his hands into the knots he found in the muscles firmly and steadily.

It took thirty minutes, and his hands were weak and starting to cramp themselves, before he was satisfied with his work enough to stop. He got a sleepy growl of protest, and smiled slightly, stroking a hand down the half-asleep Alpha's back gently.

"I'm going to go finished getting some things ready for dinner, Alpha," he murmured soothingly, using Derek's title affectionately as he brushed his oil-soft-and-scented hands over the relaxed mans hair. "You go ahead and rest. The rest of the Pack won't be here for a long while yet." Derek grunted and stretched out in a very cat-like way, which made Stiles grin because, hello, Werewolf, but the boy picked up the bottle of oil, now a third lighter, and carried it back into the kitchen. He washed his hands as best he could, and got to work on the Lady Baltimore Cake, mixing up the batter easily, carefully mixing in the orange flavoring with a soft hum. Once it was done, he poured it all into three well-oiled cake pans and set them into the fridge with plastic wrap over the tops, to keep them chilled. Bored now, and with thirty minutes to go, he went ahead and made the salad, chopping up a zucchini, grating some carrots, and adding cherry tomatoes that he cut in half, as well as spinach leaves and thin slices of radish.

All that, with the lettuce, well mixed, he put in the fridge as well, and then took out the 'ribs dressing and popped it in the microwave for a minute to get hot, just as the timer was about to go off. He stopped it before it could, and pulled out the meat, sighing softly at the smell, and carefully removed the outer covering of foil. He used a cooking brush and some tongs, and lathered both sides of every piece, and then tucked it back into the oven for another thirty-five minutes. Now with nothing left to do, he made some more Two-Minute Fudge, popping it into the freezer when it was done in the microwave, and then made the fruit-and-nut-filling for the layers of the Lady Baltimore Cake, as well as getting the Boiled Icing ready to make…

He again aborted the alarm before it could go off, and quietly re-covered the ribs with the foil from before, and then changed the ovens temperature to three-hundred-seventy-five, waited five minutes for it to change, and then took the cake pans from the fridge. He remembered to pull off the plastic wrap before he slid the three pans in, and set the timer for thirty-five minutes again. Again, with nothing left to do, he decided to make Aam Lhassi finally, and got out the food processor with an apologetic wince Derek couldn't see. He diced up some mango, poured some cold orange juice, and tapped in a few tablespoons of clear honey into the processor. He blended it for exactly one-and-a-half minutes. He scooped it out into a bowl carefully. Then, he added the milk and, as a spur-of-the-moment, totally him improvisation, added about a quarter of a cup of cream in as well. He then blended it until it was all frothy and had expanded. Once that was done, he poured the mango/honey/orange juice puree back into the processor, and blended for about a minute. That done, he poured the drink mix into a pitcher and covered the top with plastic wrap before putting it in the fridge.

Once that was done, it was time to stop the timer from going off, and take out the cake pans, and he was rather pleased with himself how long he drew out making the Aam Lhassi… He set the cakes back to finish cooking through and to cool, and got the fruit-and-nut-filling out of the fridge, and mixed up the icing to drop into a pan for a quick boil. While that was doing its thing, he got out a large, glass plate for the cake, and carefully placed the bottom piece in the middle, though it was still a bit too hot. He cleaned up a bit, wiping countertops and such free of crumbs and small spills, until ten minutes had passed, before he returned to check on the cake. Sufficiently cooled, he noticed, so he quickly and neatly lathered it with a thick, even layer of the filling, and then added the middle piece, before doing the same to it, and finally adding the top piece. He then took the boiled icing, which had cooled enough it wouldn't damage the cake, and poured it carefully over it. Once that was done, he got out a large, glass dome-lid and carefully set it over the top of the cake, and put it in the fridge. Finally, he got to preparing the potatoes, cleaning them and jabbing them, before wrapping them in foil and tossing them in the oven for a while and setting the timer to remind him to flip them occasionally.

Sighing, feeling a little drained, he padded out of the kitchen and back to the living room, and let a smile curve his lips as he saw that Derek was still sprawled out on the floor, sleeping. Carefully, Stiles settled down on the floor next to him, and leaned beck, wincing as his back popped when he straightened. He folded his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling for a while, eyes half-closed, until Derek grunted and hit him in the side with a hand,

"What?" Stiles asked, startled; Derek glowered at him tiredly.

"You're a brat," he growled; Stiles blinked, and then huffed, insulted.

"Well then!" He said, crossing his arms over his chest and looking up at the ceiling again, lips pursed. "See if I ever give you a back rub again!" Derek growled.

"I reek," he snarled; Stiles gave him a disbelieving look, and then sniffed. Well, sure, he smelled pretty strongly of pomegranate, but that wasn't that bad of a smell, was it?

"It's an improvement," he snipped back; Derek just moved, already irritated, and Stiles suddenly found himself pinned, the Alpha's clawed hands digging in on either side of his head and a deep warning growl rumbling through the air like thunder.

Stiles is the Wolf Whisperer, though, and acted accordingly, because no matter how stupid his diarrhea-mouth sometimes made him, his mind and body knew better. His arms fell, hands arching up to land limply on his shoulders, and his head fell to the side, arching, offering as much of his neck as he could, and his mouth shut because that's what got him into this mess, and his eyes dropped down, averted, offering no challenge to the red orbed glowering down at him. Fangs prickled against the thin, fragile skin of his throat and, sure, his heart beat faster, but he didn't so much as twitch, not even when Derek growled deeply above him and those teeth rattled with it. He only replied with a low whine, deep in the back of his throat, and the teeth were removed, replaced with a tongue, which lapped at his skin for a few moments, before Derek pulled away entirely with a huff, no longer wolfed-out, and calm again, if still a little irritated.

"I'm going to go shower," he grunted, and Stiles nodded simply, watching him as he carefully sat up, cautious. Derek shot him a narrow-eyed look, huffed again, and padded out on bare feet. Once he was out of the room, then, and only then, did Stiles get to his feet. He rubbed the spit off his neck with his shoulder, and sighed, shaking his head. He should know better by now, honestly. Padding into the kitchen, he flipped the potatoes as the timer only had about two minutes left anyways, and then went about cleaning the rest of the kitchen, including dishes. He even swept and re-organized the pantry and cabinets and didn't touch the chocolate (though he still didn't expect for it to last long. Jackson may have the Fear of God in him when it comes to the Alpha, but Scott started off without a Pack and, well, his Alpha-Daddy-Issues are weird).

He'd just taken the potatoes out and left them sitting, still wrapped, in a casserole dish when Derek padded in, still shirtless but damp from his shower. He didn't smell so strongly of the oil any more, at least to Stiles human nose, so that was good, right? Uh oh, the dark look says not. Okay, time for more Wolf Whispering…

Stiles slipped off his mitts and hesitantly slunk over to the Alpha, who paused to watch him, eyes narrowed and ringed in that bright, glow-in-the-dark, lava-red. Once Stiles got close enough, he rose up on tip-toes and carefully nuzzled his nose against the underside of Derek's jaw, eyes averted, before placing a kiss there.

"I'm sorry, Alpha," he said meekly; Derek was silent for a moment as Stiles pulled away and lowered his head, tilted to the side so that his neck was in view, and played with the hem of his shirt. Finally, one of Derek's hands rose and clasped the back of Stiles neck gently but firmly, thumb stroking, and a low, soothing rumble of a growl echoed through the Werewolf's chest, making Stiles give a silent exhale of relief.

"You were helping," Derek told him calmly. "And it worked. I'll just need to remember to pick up some unscented oil in case it's needed in the future." Stiles nodded slightly, and pressed his neck back into the hand, making a soft sound as the heat radiating from it relaxed some of his tense muscles.

"…I made fudge," he offered hesitantly, peeking up at the larger man. "I had extra time. Want a piece?" Derek's lip twitched up at the corner and he inclined his head, so Stiles slipped out from under his hand and all but skipped over to the freezer to pull the tray of fudge out, checking to make sure it was done enough, before getting a knife and cutting it into thirty-six neat pieces, and two out, one for himself and one for Derek.

They finished their pieces, and Stiles put the rest on a plate and covered it in plastic wrap before putting it in the fridge. Not five minutes later, Derek's head lifted and turned towards the front of the house, and it was all Stiles could do not to say What is it boy? What is it? And in one of those frou-frou-baby-voices… It was safe to assume that Derek would eviscerate him.

Slowly.

With his teeth.

His human teeth.

Anyways, a few moments later, Scott and Allison entered, Scott loudly cheering about the smell of food.

"Stiles must be here!" He exclaimed, and bounded to a stop just at the kitchen door, grinning and bouncing in place like a puppy, sniffing at the air. Stiles couldn't help but laugh at his friend.

"Dude, chill!" He said, grinning. "I'm not giving you my Adderol…" He paused, blinking. "Would that even work on a Werewolf? You guys have the, like, uber metabolism of doom, and the predatory focus. What if your brain melts? What would that look like, anyways? A brain melting? Well, actually, never mind, it wouldn't look like anything because you wouldn't see it was melting until it was leaking out your face-!"

"Shut up!" Derek barked; Stiles shut up, sending the irritated Alpha a sheepish, apologetic look. Scott looked startled; Allison was glancing between the two of them. Before she could say anything, though, Jackson, Lydia, and Danny all arrived, the boys bickering good-naturedly about something.

"Damn something smells good," Danny said, head popping into the kitchen, eyes bright as he grinned. "All finished already, Stiles?" he asked; Stiles grinned and bobbed his head while shrugging his shoulders.

"Dude, you guys took forever," he said; Danny and Allison laughed, Scott grinned, Lydia smirked, and Jackson huffed. Stiles gestured them all in and they carried the food outside, where they set everything up on the large picnic table that was there. He, again, made Derek his plate first, and made a plate set aside for his dad, which he just sat in the middle of the table for the time being. He then gave his signature, cursory glance over everything, then everyone, and smiled.

"Well?" He asked; they all dug in. It was relaxing, and nice, to be outside eating. Immediately after finishing, Scott, Jackson, and Danny were playing a bit of lacrosse, and Allison and Lydia were carrying the dirty dishes in while Derek took the remaining food, and Stiles carried his Dad's plate. Lydia carried out the cake, and Allison grabbed some paper plates and plastic forks. It was only as he was cutting the first slice for Derek that Stiles realized he'd forgotten to make the ice cream. He frowned, and then tilted his head.

"Hey, Danny," he called; the boy looked over. "Could you go grab the pitcher out of the fridge, and a stack of plastic cups, too? Thank you," he finished, beaming, as the other teen saluted and trotted into the house. "I made Aam Lhassi and totally forgot to make vanilla ice cream," Stiles told Derek with an embarrassed grin. "But this'll work, too!" He chirruped, and beamed at the taller boy when Danny handed him the pitcher and set the cups on the table. "Awesome, thanks dude!" Danny bobbed his head (well, more inclined because he wasn't as uncoordinated as Stiles and didn't bob, but, yeah, you get the point…). After he poured the drink into cups for everybody, he finished handing out cake, saving a bit of both the drink and the cake for his Dad to snack on either the next day or that night, depending.

When desert was finished, Jackson and Scott were volunteered to clean, and they did grudgingly, snapping and snarking at each other while doing so, until, finally, everything was done. Stiles reclined in the thick, green grass, looking up at the clouds and sky, and Lydia laid down with her head on his stomach, and Danny laid down on his side, feet near Stiles head, his own head pillowed by an arm. As soon as the cleaning was all done, the others joined them, with Scott and Allison cuddling nearby, and Jackson flopping down so that his head rested on Danny's hip. Derek just sat in the grass, leaning back on his arms, watching them all with half-lidded, satisfied eyes, and Stiles smiled, content.

This was Pack.

A/N: And there we go. All recipes in all of these are real, INCLUDING the Curbside Cat one (Wrinkles nose slightly, but amused) So, yeah. This one hinted at more Sterek, but all these are more Pack-based then anything, so there probably wont be much more then this in that department… Reviews appreciated!