A/N: Song credits: "Please Come Home For Christmas" ~ the Eagles, "Baby, It's Cold Outside" ~ Idina Menzel and Michael Buble (I have no idea who originally performed this tbh and research proved fruitless), and "Shake It Off" by Taylor Swift (sorta in this).
~*~TWO YEARS LATER~*~
"I guess I shouldn't really complain, but—" Stilinski trailed off with a sigh, hand working the back of his neck as he stared unseeing at his desk. "That's two graduations he won't be walking in."
Derek pressed his lips into a hard line, not really sure if he should argue with his boss-slash-future-father-in-law. Really, he was beyond thrilled with the whole thing and beyond proud of Stiles for graduating early. The Kitsune had doubled his course load, taking as many classes as he was allowed in order to gain the right amount of credits and hours in order to get his degree a year and a half before he was scheduled to.
Sure, it led to a very tired Mate and most of their Skype conversations—which was Stiles' doing, the younger man insisting that FaceTime wasn't enough and he needed to see the Werewolf's face in a higher resolution and who was Derek to deny his Mate what he wanted—consisted of Stiles either studying—sometimes with Derek's help—or falling asleep rather than the fun kinky activities the younger man had promised when convincing the deputy to accept the gift of a better laptop. Not that it was much of a gift, since Stiles had purchased it with a credit card he'd snuck out of Derek's wallet, an act that led to the Werewolf telling him "Swiper no swiping" and the Kitsune hitting him with a pillow for the terrible fox-related joke.
But when he thought about all that shit, at the end of the day, he realized it truly didn't matter, not the stolen credit card or the lack of Skype sex or the whimpering wolf worried over its Mate's well-being as the bags under his eyes became more pronounced with each internet call. Because soon, Derek would have his Mate home, for good. Not some stupid school break, not a limited vacation where he also had to share Stiles with his dad and his best friends. No, now he was gonna be able to have the younger man around as much as he wanted, as often as he wanted.
Fuck, he couldn't wait.
And while he was excited to have his Mate actually living in the same city as him once again, he understood where the sheriff was coming from. Because Stiles hadn't been able to wear a cap and gown and walk across a stage to get his high school diploma. And now, with him getting his college degree before most students were headed off for winter break, he wasn't gonna have a ceremony for that either. Derek didn't even know if Stiles had been given the actual diploma yet, the piece of paper declaring him a graduate, or if he'd have to wait for it to arrive in the mail.
"Don't get me wrong," Stilinski continued, gesturing to his deputy with his hand. "I'm damn glad to have my son be coming home, and on a permanent basis. But it would just be nice to be able to see him in a cap and gown and have this big formal thing."
This time, Derek nodded from his seat across the desk, able to relate to the sentiment. While he was proud of Stiles' accomplishments, it would've been really amazing to be able to sit in an audience as he was handed his diploma. His mind had conjured up the fantasy plenty times, the wide grin that would be on Stiles' face as he took hold of the leather binder, fist in the air in victory. Derek and the sheriff—and whoever else had made the trip to NYC—would all be in the audience, cheering, clapping. Scott would let out a few "whoop!"s, Cora would give him a "way to go, loser!" and getting a smack from a reprimanding Alpha Hale, Nurse McCall would be smiling proudly at her surrogate son while simultaneously dealing with Stilinski who would be insisting that he wasn't crying. And Derek? Derek would be cheering the loudest, probably howling along with Scott, loudly declaring "that's my Mate!" as he smiled brightly at the younger man.
But graduating early was what Stiles wanted and, once again, Derek couldn't deny him.
He was seriously gonna have to work on that, otherwise his life was gonna become nothing more than dealing with a petulant brat who constantly got his way.
Not that it didn't work both ways. Being a Supe himself now, Stiles was unable to resist giving Derek everything he wanted, which made deciding what restaurant to eat out at incredibly annoying. They'd finally been able to work out a system of taking turns, which worked until Stiles' next trip home and neither one could remember whose turn it was.
That problem was solved by the Kitsune marking everything on the older man's calendar, which, in turn, led to the Werewolf being unable to throw any of them out. Stiles ended up finding them, along with ticket stubs and other mementos from their dates Derek also held on to and found great joy in giving his Mate hell for it.
"Pack Rat Wolf" was the most annoying nickname ever.
"Still," Stilinski went on, picking up a business card and tapping it on the desk solely for something to do with his hands. "I'm glad he's coming home. And I'm sure you'll be glad to get rid of the boxes taking up space in your loft."
Derek snorted as he nodded at that, scratching his whisker-covered jaw. Six months after Stiles' return to Beacon Hills, the Yukimuras officially moved to town. Noshiko wanted to be close to Parrish to help him out, deciding he needed her more than her daughter and surrogate son, both of whom had settled into their powers. Her Mate gained a job as a history teacher at the local high school, while Kira and Stiles got an apartment together in the city as they continued attending NYU.
The female Kitsune also came to town during her own breaks, spending an increasing amount of time with Malia, and although she wasn't graduating for another year and a half, there was still plenty talk of her moving in with the Werecoyote when she was finished with school.
But during the sale of the Yukimura home, Stiles had sent a couple boxes of his belongings back to Beacon Hills. They had initially shown up at the Stilinski home, only for the sheriff to insist that Derek take them to his place because "let's face it, son, when Stiles moves back, he won't be moving in with me". The Werewolf had flushed with a pounding heart as he gave a rough "yes, sir", doing as he was ordered.
Stiles had flailed himself out of his chair that night when Derek told him what happened during their Skype chat. He'd smiled brightly once he recovered though, stating it was obviously a sign that his dad approved of them being together and that everything was even more official now. The Werewolf hadn't the heart to tell him the sheriff had approved before they'd even kissed the first time, not wanting to dampen his Mate's enthusiasm.
Not that he could get a word past Stiles' ramble over how they should go furniture shopping his next trip back home, since the one drawer Derek had cleared out for him months before wasn't gonna be enough anymore.
More boxes had shown up at the loft in recent days, Stiles' belongings being sent ahead of him as he began the process of moving out. He would've been in Beacon Hills himself, but he'd been stuck dealing with landlord issues, the apartment owner not all that willing to let Stiles out of the rental agreement and replace him with Kira's new roommate. It had led to a lot of angry rants during phone and Skype calls, but Derek had managed to distract his Mate—and unfortunately scar Kira a little, since Stiles had spent his final week in New York on the couch and she had the bad fortune to walk through during a more x-rated Skype session.
Derek had chocolate covered strawberries sent to her in apology. Stiles' insisted his own apology was not stealing any of them or making rude remarks over noises from Kira's own room when Malia had visited.
Wouldn't be long before roommates were no longer a factor in their sex life ever again.
Also wouldn't be long until he had to get to his mom's for her Christmas Eve party.
Shit, he had no clue what time it was.
Slipping his phone out of his pocket, he saw he still had two hours until that was set to start, an hour until his shift ended, and thirty minutes until Stiles' was scheduled to be back in Beacon Hills.
God, he was so close, but still so far.
His knee started bouncing as he returned his cell where it'd been, hand roughing over his mouth repeatedly. His stomach was filling with butterflies and knotting up, heart pounding in his chest, wolf pacing about inside his mind as it let out anxious whimpers. His Mate was soon to be in the same state as him, on a permanent basis, and he was stuck at work.
Not that it was anyone's fault really. It was just the way things had worked out. And in order to get Christmas off—a request he'd put in for the first time in four years—he'd been scheduled to work a double on Christmas Eve, his shift ending right before he had to head to his family's house for their party. It just so happened to coincide with Stiles' flight—the first one he'd been able to get after all the crap with his landlord had finally been situated and during the rush of holiday travel—arriving in San Francisco.
He muttered out a swear, causing his boss to raise an eyebrow in question. A wince formed on his own face before he dropped his hand onto his lap with a smack. "Sorry, just," he began then paused. "Wish I was the one who'd been able to pick him up." He wrapped it up with a shrug, trying to play it off like it wasn't a big thing when it was killing him inside. He wanted to be the one standing at that arrival gate, maybe even holding up a sign that would get him ribbed for weeks by his Mate—and probably his sisters and Parrish if they ever found out. He wanted one of those reunions like at the end of Love Actually where his Mate came rushing out the gate, jumping on him, and Derek would catch him and spin him around and they wouldn't be able to kiss properly because they were smiling so big.
But no. Derek had to work and couldn't take the time off to drive to San Fran to pick up his Mate from the airport. Because despite getting everything he wanted, the Universe still kinda hated him.
Stilinski snorted, head bobbing with the motion before see-sawing it in concession. The deputy figured his boss would've liked to do the same thing, would've loved to pick up his son and spend the long car ride back chatting like they had during old family road trips. But, unfortunately, the schedule had him working Christmas Eve also, vacation days used up by a trip to NYC to visit his son and a weekend in Napa Valley with Nurse McCall that he insisted hadn't been romantic while Stiles, Scott, Derek, and Parrish all argued to the contrary.
"Well, the way I see it," the sheriff began, leaning his seat back and clasping his hands on top of his head, "This is the only alone time Scott's gonna get with his best friend for a long time."
Derek knew that his boss wasn't implying that he'd be the only one hogging Stiles, knew he was referring to how popular Stiles was and how everyone was gonna want to spend time with the guy now that he was back in town permanently. His visits had always been filled with hanging out with this friend and that, going here and there, running himself ragged in an effort to please everyone and see them all. And chances were, the first few weeks of him living here were gonna be exactly the same, especially considering the fact that it was the holidays.
But despite knowing that, Derek still felt his ears burn as he began blushing at the perceived belief that his boss was implicating his sex life with his son. Because in the Werewolf's mind, Stiles was gonna be too busy in bed with him in order to hang out with Scott or anyone else for that matter, schedule filled with nothing but knotting and orgasms, making up for lost time caused by Stiles' disappearance and his studies.
Made working for your Mate's dad incredibly awkward at times.
The sheriff caught on pretty quick—obviously, otherwise he wouldn't have been reelected this past fall—grimacing at his deputy's reaction to his words. Regardless of how much approval he gave of their relationship, he still wasn't all that comfortable with his son being sexually active—despite Stiles' constantly pointing out how he was legal and an adult and fully consenting in everything they did, which was another statement that made the sheriff grimace.
"Why don't you go finish up some paperwork or something before you need to leave?" he suggested with a wrinkled nose and a scrunched up mouth.
Derek cleared his throat before rising to his feet and giving a mock-salute to his boss, wondering when the hell he'd started doing that and mentally growling at his Mate for instilling the habit in him. He left the door open upon exiting the office, passing by Parrish's knowing grin as the other deputy spoke on the phone to Ms Abernathy with her weekly complaint over the little boy next door wolfing out and digging in her roses. He simply flipped his partner off as he continued his way to his desk, sinking down onto his chair with a sigh.
His paperwork was pretty much done, having been filled out earlier that day. Well, except for maybe a damn good proofreading, considering the fact that he'd sped-typed and chances were all of it was filled with a thousand typos. Definitely needed to be cleaned up before he submitted it.
Wiggling his mouse, he waited for his ancient desktop to wake up, eyes roaming his desk. A wire photo holder sat on the left, containing photos of his family—including Chris—himself and his friends—which he had now, much to his own surprise. One photo was taken during a triple date to a bowling alley, featuring himself, Stiles, Scott, Allison, Parrish, and Lydia. Another was himself and Stiles with Boyd, his fiancée Erica, and Lahey. Turns out, Derek could be quite social when he wasn't suffering Separation Sickness and moping like a pathetic asshole—Laura's words, of course.
A couple featured himself and Stiles together, his eyes focusing on one in the front when Stiles had grabbed his face and kissed him hard. A small smile pulled at the corner of his lips, noting his Mate wearing his maroon sweater with his thumb through the holes and the backwards black ball cap he'd stolen from Derek, while the Werewolf sported a NYU tee Stiles had gotten him and worn around for a week so it smelled like him.
Only a couple more hours until he could see his Mate, until he could smell his actual scent with every inhale and hold him in his arms and never let go, even when Stiles complained that he was being a Smother Wolf.
His eyes flicked over to the tiny tree made of gold tinsel Lydia had given him the previous year, small fox and wolf ornaments hanging off the front, a red heart-shaped button with S & D painted on in white sitting on top. His grin grew at the sight, heart skipping a beat as the butterflies reappeared in his stomach.
Parrish snickered from his desk near the front, Derek narrowing his eyes at his partner, who was now off the phone and glancing back at him. "Sappy much?" the Kitsune murmured, smirking in amusement.
Derek just kept glaring as he muttered out "like you have room to talk" before grabbing a scrap piece of paper, balling it up, and throwing it at the other man.
Who made it burst into flames in mid-air, causing his grin to widen and his green eyes to sparkle as he winked back at his partner.
The Werewolf scoffed before turning his attention on his screen. "Still have no room to talk."
He tuned out Parrish's chuckles by focusing on the music playing from Greenberg's radio at the front desk, allowing himself to get lost in the sounds of some blues singer he didn't recognize crooning at his baby to please come home for Christmas, "if not for Christmas, by New Year's night". His grin grew and he didn't care who saw or what stupid reaction his partner would have. All that mattered was the fact that he no longer related to that damn song.
Barring a life-altering disaster, his baby was gonna be home for Christmas.
"Is your mom aware this song is about date rape?"
Derek's eyebrows shot up from behind his squat glass and he was glad as hell he hadn't been drinking anything—yet—otherwise he would've sputtered his dad's good Scotch—which he was only allowed to drink due to the fact that it was Christmas and to celebrate Stiles' graduation—everywhere. Lowering the tumbler, he peered down at Lydia, one eyebrow remaining raised in question as his mouth hung open in shock and confusion.
Lydia, of course, was completely unfazed by her random statement, flipping curly red hair behind her shoulder, ever present dog tags jangling with the motion, fairy lights reflecting off her vintage Cartier engagement ring—which he only knew was a vintage Cartier ring because she'd said so to literally every person she came across over the past three months. Being raised human, she and Parrish had decided to take the more traditional route with an engagement then a wedding, rather than a Mating, another fact she told literally every person she came across over the past three months.
The sight of her ring always made Derek smile at the knowledge of his two best friends being so happy together, then wonder what exactly he and Stiles would do. He'd personally opt for a Mating, but since Stiles had grown up believing to be human, then chances were he'd want a wedding like his parents had. Maybe they could do both? He honestly had no idea if that was an option his Mate would be open to, since they never really discussed anything beyond Stiles' graduation, aside from moving in together—which was always in a more general term, until the sheriff ordered Derek to collect his son's belongings—and the Kitsune trying to obtain a job at the SRB in the Research and History Department, where Laura already worked.
Maybe they should start discussing it now. After all, they'd been together for two years—granted a majority of it was long distance, but whatever—and that seemed like a reasonable amount of time in human terms. Hell, if it'd been up to Derek, he would've proposed a Mating during their first date soon after Stiles had been released from the hospital. But he'd been doing everything the human way so he'd kept his mouth shut.
Whole lotta good that did him.
"I mean, when you actually pay attention to the lyrics," Lydia continued, drawing him back to the present and away from her ring. "And you delve further into their meaning, it's totally about date rape."
Derek furrowed his brow in confusion before focusing on the song playing overhead. It wasn't long before he recognized the familiar tune of "Baby It's Cold Outside", a cover featuring that chick from Frozen and some adult contemporary male he couldn't quite place.
The Banshee pursed her lips in distaste as she pointed upwards, the rest of her fingers curved around a glass of red wine. "See?" she questioned, indicating the song. "The female clearly just sang 'what's in this drink?' And we're expected to believe it's a romantic duet about the male being so enraptured with his love that he doesn't want her to go home? Or that it's some sort of female empowerment anthem because she agrees to spend the night with him, despite the blow to her reputation that she'd suffer when the neighbors find out?" She snorted delicately, rolling her eyes as she brought her glass to her lips. "I don't think so." She paused to sip, licking her lips when she was done. "I can't believe your mom actually plays this song."
"Me and Laur tried explaining that to her, but she wouldn't listen," he explained, glancing around the room before focusing on his friend. "But Laura had the idiotic idea to add 'and no more Taylor Swift Christmas songs either' when we brought that to her attention and—" He shrugged a shoulder, the cotton of his black button down rustling with the motion. "Mom gets really defensive about Taylor Swift and starting singing that 'haters gonna hate' song as she danced around the kitchen. Pretty sure she just tuned us out after that."
Lydia stared up at him wide-eyed and open mouthed before choking out a laugh in disbelief and turning elsewhere. "Wow," she said in awe, shaking her head slightly. "Your mom is a Swiftie."
"Die hard," he muttered before drinking, remembering coming home on several occasions to find her belting out various tunes by the country-turned-pop star, even stumbling upon Stiles joining in a few times. Scott was a part of the sing-along on one instance, warbling a rendition of "You Belong With Me" that would've been better crooned by one of the dying animals he treated at the vet clinic he worked at.
As if on cue, Swift's rendition of "Santa Baby" started playing over the speakers, his—very pregnant—older sister loudly declaring she was gonna throw up before waddling her way toward the bathroom, Argent on her heels muttering apologies to everyone she bowled over—including a canoodling Liam and Brett.
Allison made her way over then, dimpled smile on her face as she giggled to herself, dark eyes sparkling in amusement. "Pretty sure your sister's faking it," she stated after stopping on Derek's left, putting him in the middle of a female sandwich. "She's in her third trimester and just this morning she was discussing how relieved she was to be over that whole 'morning sickness bullshit'—" she said using air-quotes. "—just in time for the holidays."
"Oh, I know she is," Derek pointed out, saluting in Laura's direction with his glass. "She just really hates Taylor Swift. It's another on-going battle between her and my mom."
The brunette laughed more, hand flying up to cover her mouth, putting her wedding ring on display. After her year in Paris was up, she and Scott had gotten back together, being both Mated and married soon after, much to Scott's mom's chagrin, Melissa believing they were both too young. But the whole thing had ended in tears of joy and Stilinski lending a comforting shoulder, which then led to jokes about how the sheriff would soon be in her shoes. Stiles had spent a good majority of the reception either dancing like an idiot or trying to convince Derek it was customary for the groomsmen to hook up.
It wasn't, but they still wound up fooling around in a broom closet.
The Werewolf's eyes flicked down to the stomach of his...step-niece...? He wasn't never sure of the right terms with her. But no matter what, she was family, and now, so was Scott, through a whole bunch of marriages and Matings and complicated red strings that Stiles kept trying to verbally put together in order to explain how he and Scott were gonna be related one day, only to give up and decide he was just gonna try once more to hook their parents up.
"So," he began, lowering his glass to his side. "When are you gonna pop—" He cut himself off before using the Werewolf slang term in case he offended her, clearing his throat and redirecting his words. "—have kids?" An awkward smile played on his lips as he drank, Lydia snorting on his right and rolling her eyes.
Sweet, gracious Allison just smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Scott and I aren't planning on popping out any pups any time soon," she answered, jokingly using the term he'd almost blurt out by mistake, saying it with a gentle mocking tone that showed she wasn't offended or incensed by him using it.
He sometimes forgot how some people in the world were at ease with Supes and their own language and that Allison was one of the good ones. Which was easy to forget about how sweet and open she was when the rest of her family didn't share her point-of-view.
Thank god her father wasn't the same way. He'd hate to think his possible-Werewolf nephew would be born to a bigoted asshole.
"Speaking of Scott," Allison started, brow furrowing, the scent of worry rolling off her and overpowering her lemony scent. "Have you heard from him or Stiles lately?"
Now that it had been mentioned...
Derek slid his phone out of his pocket, checking his recent messages and feeling a frown of his own form. "Last I heard they were ten minutes away and that was. Half an hour ago."
Shit. Not good.
The female's anxiety ratcheted up, causing his own to spike. It wasn't like Stiles not to keep in contact, not like him not to send countless texts counting down the minutes until the two of them were reunited, something that both drove the Werewolf insane and made him smile so big his face hurt.
"They're fine," Lydia interrupted, shrugging nonchalantly. "My Banshee powers aren't tingling so it's all right."
Derek wished he could roll his eyes at her usage of Stiles' term for what she did, but his mind was too busy rolling over what exactly it was that she did and what the hell could've happened to his Mate.
No. Everything was fine. Lydia was right.
"Which means they aren't dead," Allison pointed out, voice wavering. She wrapped her arms around herself, leather jacket creaking, the fabric of her silk dress swishing about her nylon covered hips. "But that doesn't mean they're okay."
"They're fine," the Werewolf agreed with the Banshee, wrapping an arm around the human's shoulders. "I'd be able to tell if something bad happened."
And it was true. His mind flashed back to Stiles' accident over five years ago, how he'd felt a pulling in his chest and an overwhelming sensation of something being completely and totally wrong. His anxiety had been a thousand times worse that day than it was at that moment and he was more disoriented and worried than annoyed and impatient like he was currently feeling.
His step-niece sighed shakily, teeth sinking into her bottom lip, worry creasing the skin between her brows. Her anxiety was still a rancid scent in his nose and he slipped his hand down to rub her upper arm in a manner he hoped was soothing.
"Seriously, they're okay," he assured her. "Knowing them, they stopped for burritos or curly fries or some other crap and just didn't tell anyone. You know how airheaded they can both be." He smirked down at her, amusement coloring his words.
Allison let out another sigh, this one short and more easygoing, a dimple forming in her cheek as one side of her lips pulled up. "This is true," she conceded, anxiety leaving her scent. "The two of them probably just got caught up talking about some video game or the latest Marvel movie or something."
The Werewolf snorted. "'Cause Stiles hasn't rambled about that enough," he muttered before finishing off his drink and looking around for a place nearby to set his empty glass down. Nothing.
She and Lydia launched into a conversation of their own over their Mates mutual love of action movies and their own inability to understand the appeal of explosions and scantily clad women. Derek tuned out when it became apparent that it was becoming a discussion on sexism in Hollywood, not about to become involved with two females railing against male-oriented movies—especially not when one of those females was Lydia Martin, Queen of Arguing Anyone Else Into the Ground. Instead, he glanced around the room, taking in all the guests.
Liam and Brett had moved their snuggle session to a nearby armchair, their human friend Mason sitting on the ottoman across from them and saying something that made Liam laugh loudly. Kira and Malia were in a corner engaging in an activity that usually featured mistletoe hanging from above—and not nearly as heatedly as they were behaving. Laura and Chris were back from the bathroom, she discussing wildly—and loudly—with their mom over her song choice. Derek could make out the words "I'm pregnant!" from reading his sister's lips—her usual argument in recent times for getting her way—their mom replying with her usual "haters gonna hate". Cora and Erica were downing shots, Boyd standing stoically—and somehow still looking disapproving—to the side, white twinkle lights flashing off his wedding band as he smeared his hand over his face roughly. Parrish, Stilinski, and Derek's dad were deep in discussion over what Derek assumed was fishing, judging by the game of charades the older two were enacting. And Lahey was leaning back against a wall, smiling coyly at Jackson as the younger Werewolf tilted in close, eyes constantly flicking down to the elder's lips as they flirted pretty heavily.
Well that was intriguing.
He knew Lahey had dated his sister for a while, only for them to split on good terms when they realized they were both on different pages—mainly the fact that Cora was asexual and Lahey wasn't—but they remained good friends. And now the deputy was off flirting with Jackson Whittemore. Definitely interesting.
From what he understood, after a long talk with Allison over their Christmas holiday two years ago—and several more similar convos over the next fifteen months or so—Jackson came home to Beacon Hills, something else that had caused a long flailing ramble over Skype by Stiles. But from what Derek had been told, Jackson had become a completely different guy, was more friendly and open, had forgiven his parents for not telling him he was adopted and instead became more grateful for the fact that they did so. Scott wasn't too thrilled by his presence—mainly due to his wolf not liking the fact that Jackson had been around its Mate when they were apart—but they'd settled their own issues and were close friends.
Not as close as Jackson and Lahey apparently were.
He'd have to tell Parrish about that, if the other deputy wasn't already aware. Gossip spread through the station pretty fast, especially on slow days, and that was definitely something Derek thought should be out there. If for no other reason than so he'd have someone to back him up when he picked on Lahey for it.
Raising his glass, he tried to hide his smirk by drinking, only to remember he was out. He excused himself from the two females, slipping away unnoticed as Lydia started in on Tomb Raider and Angelina Jolie. The entrance to the kitchen through the living room was stuck behind a throng of people and he didn't feel like trying to weave his way through everyone, choosing instead to take the less populated route through the main hallway, into the dining room, then the kitchen.
Only to get sidetracked.
Because stepping out into the hall meant the music was quieter, allowing him to hear sounds outside much easier. Because a beat-up Honda was making its way closer and parking on the front lawn with all the other vehicles. Because only one floppy haired dimwit in Derek's life had a mom who drove a car like that and had borrowed it to drive to San Fran.
He was barely aware of putting the squat glass he still held on a nearby table, wolf howling inside his head, heart pounding inside his chest. The engine was killed, doors opening, laughter filling the air outside, laughter he hadn't heard in person for what felt like forever but was really only about a month. Still, seconds apart were like hours and Derek honestly felt like they'd spent a lifetime away from each other. He had no idea how in the hell he'd managed to survive three years without Stiles. Maybe it just felt worse because he'd been counting down to a reunion that always seemed so far away, when before it was nothing but an infinite space without his Mate ever coming home.
Whatever. Didn't matter. What did matter was that Stiles was officially home and in Beacon Hills and Derek was throwing open the front door before racing across the porch and down the steps.
Stiles had barely managed to round the back of the car, a smile beginning to form on his face as his whiskey eyes connected with green ones, before the Werewolf collided with him, wrapping his arms around his Mate and holding him close. The embrace was instantly returned, the Kitsune burying his nose in the crook of his neck and inhaling deeply.
"Der," he breathed out, the word barely a whisper above their racing hearts and the din of a Mariah Carey song drifting out through the still open door. But the sound of it live, in person, without the static of a phone line or the digitization of a webcam, it caused the elder male to shiver all over before damn near collapsing in relief. Stiles was fine, was okay, was in his arms and against his body, was in his nose and in his eyesight.
Was home.
Derek had his Mate in his bed and his taste in his mouth and... everything just felt right.
The two had stayed at the party for about two hours, Stiles chatting with everyone and catching up, Derek clinging to him like a limpet and inhaling his scent at every opportunity. But if the smaller male cared, he didn't show it, instead sneaking smiles at the elder male and scenting him right back. A few times they had snuck off to another room together in not-so-sneaky fashions, barely able to keep it PG around party guests, making out and groping and dry humping like horny teenagers in the bathroom. And the pantry. And Derek's old bedroom. And the back deck. And the bathroom again before Laura burst in and threatened to spew all over them if they didn't get their hormones and their scents under control.
They'd left pretty soon after that.
The drive to the loft had felt twice as long—although that might've been due to the fact that they made out at every red light and stop sign, barely able to contain themselves until they got home. Derek had been hard and aching pretty much since Stiles had arrived, his wolf realizing that its Mate was home and what that meant mating-wise. And with the younger man smelling of other people, the Werewolf had been dying to wipe it all away and cover him with his own scent, to re-mark his territory as Stiles had so eloquently put it back when they'd first begun dating and he'd come home from school smelling like classmates and the boys locker room.
Stiles hadn't helped anything by being a tease all night with not-so-subtle brushes of his hand against Derek's crotch, his ass rubbing against his Mate's front whenever possible, whispers of how great reunion sex was and how hard his own cock was rasping against the older man's ear whenever no one was paying them any attention. It had taken every ounce of self-control Derek had to not mount his Mate in the middle of his family's home, especially when Stiles commented on how bummed he was that the Werewolf's old room was now a guest room and how that meant he couldn't live out a fantasy of debauching his Mate's childhood bedroom.
Growls over Stiles' room still being exactly the same had rumbled out of Derek's mouth before he'd shoved a hand down the front of the younger man's khakis and wrapped a hand around his hard length, only to groan when he realized his Mate had gone without underwear.
"Jus' gon' get in th'way la'er," Stiles had slurred, drunk with arousal, smooth cheek rubbing against Derek's whiskered one.
The elevator ride had been spent making out furiously, hands roaming, shirts being shoved up, Derek nearly losing his completely before he remembered where they were. Knowing his luck, Parrish would've been the one to find his missing top and would use it to rib him for weeks.
Didn't stop Stiles from completely unbuttoning it and leaving it hanging open as his hands spanned the Werewolf's muscled torso.
But they finally made it to his loft, Stiles carefully setting down his duffel by the door as Derek slid it shut before they were all over each other once again. Clothes had been shed on the way to the bed, the Kitsune nearly toppling over while struggling to remove his socks, being caught by a chuckling Mate who'd solved his issues by slinging him over his shoulder and carrying him the rest of the way. His khakis had been quickly shed, along with Derek's briefs, and the two had reconnected their lips in another frenzied make out session, hands now roaming naked bodies, cocks slick with precome sliding together.
It wasn't long before Derek had Stiles flipped onto his stomach, not wasting any time before spreading his Mate's cheeks and diving in. The Kitsune groaned loudly, head thrashing about on the pillow, hands wringing at the sheets. He moved onto his knees, chest still pressed to the mattress, hips trying to flex back, fighting against Derek's grip on him. Shudders wracked his frame, moan-tinged swears falling from his lips in a stream of nonsense as the Werewolf ate at him like a starved man.
Derek wrapped his hand around his cock and held on tight, staving off his own orgasm. Rimming Stiles was one of his favorite activities and he was giving it everything he had. He sucked at his hole, nipped the sensitive pucker, slipped his tongue inside and lapped at him, loosening the rim as he slicked it up with his saliva.
"Oh, je—fu—Der," Stiles stuttered, breath leaving him on a shaky groan, back arching up before bowing down again. "Oh God, just fuck me, fuck!"
Derek pulled off with one last kiss to the pucker, giving it a final kitten lick before fully lifting his head. "I was actually thinking," he began then paused, massaging his Mate's cheeks.
"Dang'rous," the younger man slurred, peering down at him with a smirk, face smooshed on a pillow. His pillow. Because Stiles couldn't sleep without it and it was now permanently residing in Derek's—in their loft on their bed.
He smacked his ass before spreading his cheeks apart, thumbs rubbing at his rim and making him gasp and close his eyes. "I was thinking maybe," he tried again, swallowing hard. Because he had no idea how to ask for what he wanted, what his Mate's reaction would be. Sure, they'd talked about it in a theoretical sense, a hypothetical, a random thought blurted out during sex or knotting, but never in a more serious manner where real plans could be made.
But Derek had been thinking about it in a serious manner, had made plans of his own for it. He had no clue if Stiles would be for it or not, if he wanted to try it, if he was more set on keeping their dynamics the way they were, if he was open for something different. And Derek himself wasn't one-hundred percent sure how he felt about it. The idea in theory was great and he'd jerked off to the fantasy more than once. But his wolf wasn't all that keen on being submissive to anyone, especially when it came to something so intimate and so personal.
Yet all he could think about was how much he trusted Stiles and how there was no way he could do it with anyone else—anatomy not withstanding. Sure, it wasn't easy to get there. They'd gone through a major rough patch when they'd first gotten back together, Derek still not entirely sure if he could really believe the younger male wasn't going anywhere. He'd picked arguments over stupid shit, started fights for no real reason, until Stiles finally snapped back that he wasn't going anywhere so he needed to stop trying to push him away and just deal with the fact that he was stuck with him for good.
Things had calmed down considerably after that and Derek had finally allowed Stiles to earn back the trust he'd lost when he'd ran.
And with that trust came the belief that Stiles would never do anything to hurt Derek, not again, and that the Werewolf had nothing to worry about when it came to what he wanted at that moment.
Swallowing hard, he tried to voice his desires for a third time, voice thick and shaky, yet somehow still sure and composed. "I was thinking maybe you could. Knot. Me."
Stiles froze all over, eyes shooting wide open, inhaling sharply. He moved so fast Derek couldn't even see it until the Kitsune was settled on his knees by the pillows, staring at the older man with wide eyes and a slack jaw. "You're," he choked out, shaking a finger at his Mate as he made like a goldfish for a long moment. "You're. You're serious."
Derek pushed himself up to a sitting position, folding his legs in front of himself, scratching his jaw. "Yeeeeah," he stretched the word out, wincing slightly. "Just. Thought it'd be a cool extra Christmas gift or something."
His actual gift for his Mate was a Lego Marvel video game and a signed lithograph from "Return of the Jedi"—which Stiles was crazy enough to believe was the best Star Wars movie, an ongoing debate between the two of them—but this was something extra, something special, a lot like when Stiles was offering up his virginity to Derek as a gift. Because no one else would ever get this, be able to do this, to not only be the first—and only—person to knot him, but the first—and only—person ever to top him.
Between one breath and the next, Derek found himself on his back, Stiles pinning him down by his wrists, lips pressed against his in a bruising kiss. His eyes widened, surprise freezing him momentarily before he returned the kiss, hips bucking up against the ones rolling down onto him.
Stiles pulled away with a pop, panting wildly, eyes a steady orange glow as they flicked back and forth between Derek's. "You have no idea how long I've been wanting to knot you," he confessed, voice a husky rumble that made the Werewolf's cock twitch, fresh bead of precome spurting out. "Pretty much since you mentioned it a couple years ago."
The corner of the older man's lips curved up in a smirk, head leaning up to rub his nose against his Mate's. "That's how long I've been wanting you to do it, too."
The Kitsune's eyes faded to their usual whiskey hue, crinkling at the corners as he grinned in amusement, trying to hold back a laugh. But he failed, a chuckle snorting past and his head ducking down, forehead pressing to Derek's sternum. "Seriously, our communication sucks," he commented, finding more humor in it than annoyance.
Derek chuckled right back, freeing his hands and wrapping his arms around the leaner male's torso. "I like to think we've gotten better at it though," he stated, lips pressed to soft tawny locks, inhaling his Mate's scent with every breath.
Stiles nodded against his chest before pressing his lips to it, trailing open-mouth kisses all over his bare pecs, hands roaming up and down his sides. "Much better," he murmured, lips grazing over bare skin as he spoke lowly. He began moving downwards, lips still pressing against his Mate's torso. An open mouth kiss here, a nip there, tongue trailing lines between abs and the V between his torso and hips.
The Werewolf spread his legs to accommodate him, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he peered down at the younger male, watching with rapt attention. Stiles going down on him was still one of the hottest sights ever and was an image he frequently pulled up during nights alone when his Mate was living across the country and he was feeling lonely. And this time was no different, with the Kitsune running his nose along his cock before nuzzling it just under his balls, inhaling deep and groaning.
"Fuck you smell good," he moaned, fingers digging into the larger male's hips in a bruising grip, his own hips rolling against the mattress. He nosed all over his Mate's crotch, scenting him in a place where it was most pure, with the arousing additions of musk and sex mixed in. Derek knew how intoxicating that blend was, loved spending his own sweet time inhaling it from Stiles' most private and personal areas, regardless of how impatient his Mate became for him to "just fucking get on with it".
And now that the shoe was on the other foot—or nose in the other crotch, so to speak—Derek fully understood the annoyance and the desire to "just fucking get on with it", because it was killing him. Stiles was right there and his cock was twitching and aching and his hole felt like it was fluttering and pulsing in anticipation.
He whimpered out his Mate's name, peering down with begging, half-lidded eyes, fingers sliding into tawny locks. A smirk was the younger man's response before lifting his head and wrapping his lips around the head of Derek's cock, slipping the hard length in his mouth.
Derek's head tilted back on a moan, hips trying to buck up, only to be held still by his partner's hands. He flashed back to the first time Stiles had ever blown him, how his own willpower and strength had to be used in order not to buck his hips and choke his Mate, how the then-human was too weak to hold him down or pin him for too long. But now they were equally matched, the Kitsune able to keep him still, keep him subdued, make him submit.
And, fuck, if it wasn't hot as hell.
Stiles pressed down until the tip tapped the back of his throat, then pulled back up, releasing him. He licked the hard length all over, coating it, tongue flicking teasingly in the slit before he swallowed him down once again. Derek could do nothing but moan, fingers tightening their grip on his hair, other hand grasping at a bare shoulder. His mouth was so wet, so warm, the suction just perfect, tongue rolling and massaging against all the right places. His wolf was loving it, too, loving the knowledge that it was inside its Mate once again—albeit not in the more traditional way but still—loving that it was claiming him once more, leaving its mark and its scent on its territory.
A slick finger rubbed at his hole, massaging the tight pucker but not pressing. Derek forced himself to relax, despite a particularly hard suck causing his every muscle to tense up in pleasure. He cocked a knee, foot planted firmly on the mattress, giving the other man easier access. Stiles' head bobbed up and down his length, sucking and licking, all the while his finger just rubbed and pressed but never slipped inside. It was maddening really, the way it felt as though he was purposely being played with, tormented, teased to such a degree he was ready to claw something.
But then, finally then, the tip of his finger slipped past the tight ring.
The Werewolf let out a groan as he felt the digit enter him, as the finger was crooked and it tugged at his entrance, stretching it. It wasn't anything all that new, Derek having experimented with fingering himself, managing to get a couple inside. But at the same time, it was completely novel. Because Stiles' fingers were longer, slimmer, because the angle wasn't quite the same, because the touch came with the added sensation of his cock being sucked and his balls being massaged and his Mate sending vibrations throughout him as he moaned around the hard length.
It was new, it was different, it was better.
There wasn't any fooling around, wasn't any teasing, wasn't any prolonging it. Stiles worked quickly and efficiently, soon spreading four fingers inside of Derek and massaging his walls, avoiding that one spot that always made the Kitsune cry out and flail more than usual. He wasn't sure if he was glad for it—since the entire thing was intense enough with adding that in to the mix—or pissed that his prostate wasn't being played with the way he did for his Mate, but whatever the case, he was still left a moaning, shaking mess, his breathing erratic and heart pounding in his own ears as he growled at Stiles to "just fuckin' get on with it!"
His words seemed to work, fingers slipping out and leaving him empty, gaping, quivering. His teeth sank into his bottom lip as he watched his Mate sit up, hands rubbing soothingly at his inner thighs.
"Not too late to back out," Stiles stated, voice rough from arousal and from having Derek's dick tapping the back of his throat repeatedly.
Derek shook his head adamantly, swallowing hard before pulling his legs up to his chest, holding onto his knees. "I want this, want you."
The younger man's eyes flashed orange before he nodded, licking his lips. Reaching down, he wrapped a hand around his slicked up cock, lining it up and with a quick glance at the elder man, he pressed inside.
A loud, drawn out groan hit the Werewolf's ears, a broken sound, nearly a wail as the person cried out in pleasure, and it took him a moment to realize he'd made it. Because his Mate was staring down at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth, a choked gasp forcing its way out his throat, seemingly incapable of making any other sort of noise. Was a pretty rare occasion when Stiles Stilinski was rendered speechless and Derek felt his wolf preen a little at the knowledge that it was part of the reason why.
Stiles didn't stop until he was fully inside, until his balls were pressed up against Derek's ass, until there was no way the two of them could be any more connected, then he collapsed on top of his Mate. Derek choked out a couple exhales, the air forced out as though there was no more room inside him for it to remain. He wrapped his legs around the leaner male, hands grasping at his bare shoulders, already slick with sweat. Stiles propped himself up with his forearms on either side of the elder man's head, holding still for the time being, allowing Derek to get used to the invasion.
Because it was an invasion, his body now containing something it hadn't before, but in the most intense and pleasurable ways. He understood why Stiles enjoyed it so much, why he loved having his Mate fill him. Because Derek could feel his Mate pulsing and twitching inside an incredibly intimate area. Because he felt safe and secure with the other man draped over him that way. Because he felt like a metaphorical hole had been filled when a literal one had been. Because it was all about the two of them reestablishing that connection and bringing themselves closer together than they thought were possible.
The stretch burned and his body trembled from it, from the unfamiliar sensation of having something inside him. A whimper left him, a whine, then lips pressed against his, a kiss to take his mind off everything and relax him. And it worked, Derek's mind flooded with the taste of his Mate in his mouth, with a tongue massaging against his own, with the shivers induced when certain areas of his palate were flicked against.
Soon, the dull pain and strange sensations faded away and Derek pulled away with a nod, swallowing hard before licking his lips. "Ready," he whispered, green eyes meeting whiskey ones.
Stiles kissed his lips then his nose before sliding out to the head. The Werewolf gasped at the tug on his rim before groaning as he was filled up again, head tilting back. The opportunity was taken, the younger man connecting his lips to a stretched neck, nipping at newly exposed skin as he thrust in slow, yet slightly clumsy motions.
Derek breathed shakily as he tried to buck his hips in rhythm, only to find he couldn't move all that well, choosing to instead lay there and take it. The entire thing was so surreal, to be experiencing the same act but in reverse, to be the one who was filled instead of doing the filling. He still preferred their usual way of doing things, but fuck, this was still amazing, still incredible, and knowing that his Mate was feeling the same pleasure made it a million times better.
The thrusts soon sped up, the actions still sloppy, making it obvious that it was Stiles' first time doing this. Derek groaned at the knowledge that he was taking yet another one of his Mate's virginities, that he was the first—and only—one to be able to be with him in that way. There was just something so primitively arousing about it and he found his eyes flashing to their wolf vision.
A swear was breathed out from between the younger man's lips, his own eyes flashing in response before he began pounding away with little to no finesse. Not that Derek could blame him. He was the same way at times, when he got carried away with the pleasure of it all and more focused on making Stiles' come than any sort of rhythm or skill. His hands wrapped around the Kitsune's biceps, feeling the heated skin under his sweaty palms, noted how steam was rising off his shoulders. He gasped out a swear of his own, absently reaching over to touch the wisps of heated air, almost saddened when he came away feeling nothing but warmth.
A tugging was felt at his rim, the stretch increasing with each thrust, a pulsing joining in with it. Stiles' knot. The realization caused his fangs to descend, eyes flicking back to his wolf ones, claws digging into his Mate's shoulders. He felt a prick on his own, a growl leaving the younger man with it.
"Gon' knot you," he warned in a breathy voice, tips of his fangs poking out from between his lips. "Fuck, gonna knot you so bad."
Derek moaned loudly, squeezing his inner-muscles in invitation, dying to feel himself being stretched further, being tied to his Mate, being filled with his come and his essence. Only to realize...
"No!" he objected, head popping up off the mattress, eyes widening as far as they could go. "Not like this."
Stiles froze immediately upon his objection, his own eyes shooting open, staring down at him with parted lips. His scent shifted from arousal and pleasure and joy to confusion and worry and concern, like he believed he'd done something wrong and the Werewolf was putting a stop to the whole thing.
The older man swallowed hard, panting through his mouth as he collected his thoughts, as he kept his own scent calm and even so as not to worry his Mate. He'd found that keeping himself relaxed and at ease actually helped Stiles when he was worrying himself into a panic and/or anxiety attack, that his serene scent soothed the worrying Kitsune and allowed him to chill out. Granted it only really worked in person, which left Derek sputtering and struggling in order to come up with the right words as Stiles railed on about this test or that paper or "Oh God, Noshiko's gonna kill me for setting fire to" whatever object of the month it was.
He'd eventually calm the younger man down, but it was a real test of his own communication skills. Or lack thereof really. There was a reason why Parrish was usually the one sent to deal with traumatized vics while Derek handled the perps.
Rubbing at his Mate's arms, he put a small smile on his face, meeting his gaze. "We can't knot in this position," he clarified, wiggling a leg for emphasis. "Remember when we tried to do that and you complained about your foot falling asleep after about five minutes?"
The Kitsune's eyes narrowed and lips pursed as he thought about it before he breathed out a laugh and smirked. "Yeah, and you were shaking from trying to hold yourself up and not crush me," he added on in an amused tone.
"Exactly." Memories of that day hit him, remembering Stiles' first trip back to Beacon Hills after they'd gotten together, how they were too desperate in their attempts to get together and Derek had been too eager to knot his Mate that neither had given a thought to the position they were in when it happened. A few awkward and painful shifts later, and Derek had wound up on his back with Stiles sprawled across him, knot still lodged inside him. Which worked then, since the Werewolf was broader and could handle the leaner male laying on him. He didn't think it would work all that well in reverse.
"Maybe I should flip onto my stomach?" he offered with a shrug, knowing that back-to-front worked best for knotting.
Stiles didn't seem too keen on the idea though, given the fact that his face scrunched up and his scent turned salty with upset. "I wanna see your face though," he murmured, lowering his head to rub their noses together.
Shit. Definitely didn't help there. He wracked his brain trying to think of any other options, becoming distracted when Stiles pulled out and made him gasp.
"On your side," he suggested, slapping the older man's hip as he rose onto his knees.
Derek cocked an eyebrow only to mentally shrug it off and do as he was told, once again giving in to his Mate's whims. A few positional shifts later and he found himself laying on his left side with Stiles straddling his leg, right one tucked in close to his body, a hard cock pressing at his entrance once more.
"God, I love this one," Stiles commented with a groan as he slid in, head tilting back. "Go so deep."
The Werewolf moaned as his Mate did just that, his own hand shooting out to tangle in the loosened sheet, claws ripping at the fabric by mistake. The position had been one the younger man had discovered while watching porn—a fact that didn't shock Derek in the slightest—and he'd wanted to try it, soon becoming a fave of them both. Because Derek could go deep—just as Stiles had commented—and Stiles could be filled more and it was an easy thing to shift into a spooning position when his knot was tying them together.
The thrusts started out slow, but soon gathered speed and strength behind them. Stiles' fists rested on either side of Derek's body as he leaned over him for better leverage, hips pistoning in and out, back and forth. The older man wrapped his hand around his Mate's wrist, feeling the rapid pulse beneath his pale skin, feeling the strength in taut forearm muscles, feeling the near burning temperature of his Kasai nature.
"Close again," the Kitsune breathed out through a groan, head hanging, sweat dripping off his forehead onto Derek's skin. His knot was growing once more, becoming bigger, tugging at his rim more insistently with each pull out.
Derek could only nod, his own knot inflating, rubbing against the sheet as Stiles' every thrust rocked his body. His free hand slid down and wrapped around the gland, massaging it as it fully expanded. "Shit, Stiles," he gasped, squeezing his knot and his inner-walls, trying desperately to keep his Mate's knot inside of him. "Oh fuck, knot me, knot me, knot me."
A growl came from above as Stiles thrust inside hard and stayed there, knot fully expanded. He damn near collapsed on top of the Werewolf with a harsh gasp, scent exploding with a thousand emotions. "Oh my god!" he practically yelled, panting harshly against a bare bicep. "Oh shit, no wonder you love this."
He chuckled, the sound turning into a moan as the laugh made his body shake and the knot inside him to rub against his prostate. And Jesus fucking Christ, how fucking amazing was that? Sparks of pleasure shot all over, his eyes switching to his wolf vision and staying that way. He was dimly aware of his claws digging into Stiles' wrist, of his fangs hanging down behind his parted lips, of completely losing control of his humanity. He was an animal, being mated and tied to like an animal, and fuck. It was a feeling of euphoria only ever experienced when knotting his Mate, when fully shifted and running with his Pack under a full moon, when giving in to his true nature and no longer hiding what he was.
Stiles ground his hips in a slow roll, massaging the bundle of nerves, forehead pressed to Derek's shoulder as he lost the strength to hold up his head. He muttered nonsense words and swears between pants, between praises, between comments of how good it felt, how amazing, how much he wanted his Mate to come.
And Derek, still unable to deny Stiles anything, did just that.
He exploded all over his torso, his leg, his sheets. He saw stars, waves crashing, volcanoes exploding. He felt pleasure rush through every inch of his body, curling his toes, tightening his fingers, squeezing his hole. And like the ripple effect it always was, one orgasm caused the other's, Stiles filling him up. He was vaguely aware of teeth digging into the round of his shoulder, of come pulsing inside his passage, of a trembling frame pressing along his side, of steam rolling off the Kitsune's skin and making the air thick with humidity and heat.
Neither moved for a long time, both shaking, both grasping onto one another desperately as they slowly came back down to earth. Stiles was the first to recover, gusting out a laugh against Derek's sweaty bicep, body shaking with it.
"Glad those aren't my sheets," he chuckled, smirked pressed against flesh.
The Werewolf tried to scowl, reaching up to bat at his Mate as he fought off an amused smirk, post-orgasm high making it difficult to really be annoyed. "Shuddup," he slurred, eyelids too heavy to hold open.
Another breath of laughter was the younger man's response before he carefully shifted around, cuddling into the broader male from behind, one of his legs slung over one of Derek's. He nuzzled into the back of his neck, a satisfied rumble vibrating against the older man's back as he inhaled his scent. Wrapping his arm around him, he placed his hand over Derek's heart, the Werewolf tangling their fingers together.
He knew he should stay awake and enjoy the bliss, knew he should catch up with his Mate and everything that was happening in his life, knew he should help them both ride out the minor orgasms they'd both be experiencing over the next twenty minutes or so as they remained tied together, but he was feeling far too satisfied and happy and at peace with life. Safe inside his Mate's arms, he drifted off to sleep with the feel of his knot fitted snugly inside and his heart beating a pleasing rhythm against his back.
Derek had no clue what time it was when he woke up. Middle of the night-slash-early morning he figured, judging by the fact that it was still dark outside. He let the thought go when he realized he was alone in bed, that he no longer had Stiles pressed up against his back or inside him. Squeezing his rim, he noted a lack of pain and stretch, his healing having kicked in while he slept. He also noted a lack of mess inside of him, figuring Stiles must've cleaned him up while he was out.
He'd shifted onto his stomach at some point, head cradled on an arm. Opening his eyes, he realized he was still laying with his head by the foot of the bed, facing towards the main area of the loft. Completely fine with him, considering what he opened his eyes to.
The white Christmas lights decorating his loft had been switched on: bulbs attached to thick garland wrapped around the railing of the iron spiral stairs that led to the skylight, fairy lights wrapped around support beams as high as his borrowed ladder could go, white bulbs casting a soft glow from the Christmas tree standing tall and proud in front of the huge bank of windows. A fabric poinsettia sat on the coffee table—a gift from Scott and Allison—two stockings hung off the kitchen's breakfast bar, adorning each of their names, Stiles having bought them the year before—along with glitter glue—and declaring they were gonna decorate a stocking for the other person. Derek had meticulously created a dozen or so snowflakes with the silver, all different sizes and shapes, along with a red and orange heart, while Stiles had created what he claimed was a Werewolf snowman, surrounded by countless hearts that Parrish smirked at him for.
The soft sounds of a choir singing "Silent Night" filled the loft, coming from the iPod dock on the coffee table, sounding a lot like the version that played at the end of A Christmas Story. Derek was overcome with a desire to cuddle with Stiles on an armchair, drinking wine as they watched the snow fall outside the window, no lights but the soft glow of the Christmas tree.
His Mate stood in front of the tree, still naked, a far cry from the self-conscious teenager who tried to cover himself up at all times and preferred remaining clothed while they fooled around, arms folded over his chest in a casual manner. A small smile curved up the corner of his lips, lights reflecting off his dark eyes as they roamed the tree, taking in the various decorations they'd purchased together the year before. Hell, everything had been bought the year before—except for the tree, which Derek had had to pick out with Lydia that year since Stiles was still stuck in New York—Stiles deciding that Derek needed to undrab his loft for the holidays and Derek going along with what his Mate wanted. He also agreed with the sentiment that he needed something to show it was a festive season and since he no longer hated the big holiday that captured damn near everyone's attention, he figured he could go along with his partner buying some things for the loft.
He drew the line at the inflatable Darth Vader with a Santa hat thought. Stiles just glared and threatened it would be in the loft next year.
A quick glance around show a lack of Star Wars themed decor—minus the Millenium Falcon ornament on the tree—and he felt his lips curve up slightly at the fact that he was still winning that ongoing battle.
"I know you're awake, Creeper Wolf," Stiles stated with a small smirk, still focused on the tree. "Quit staring."
Derek snorted as he rolled onto his back, stretching tight joints and aching muscles before getting off the bed. He smeared his hand over his face repeatedly as he padded over to his Mate, standing behind him and wrapping his arms around his torso. Stiles didn't hesitate to cover his hands, smile growing, scent warm and pleased.
"Was enjoying the view," he commented, voice rough from sleep and previous activities, then pressed his lips to his bare shoulder.
The Kitsune snorted, body rocking with the noise. "Cliché," he criticized, snuggling back into his Mate, eyes still taking in the tree before him. "Still can't believe you didn't have any of this last year."
The Werewolf shrugged, playing it off. "Christmas didn't exactly bring back any good memories anymore," he confessed lowly, lips still pressed to his shoulder. He felt the younger man tense up beneath him, scented his remorse and regret, understanding the implication that it was his fault that Derek wasn't a big fan of the holidays. But the older man wasn't having any of that, rubbing their cheeks together before nuzzling his ear. "But now I have nothing but good ones. So quit freaking out." He smacked his Mate's hip for emphasis, relishing the gasp then the annoyed grumble he got in response.
"Well," Stiles began then paused, fiddling with Derek's fingers. The Werewolf recognized it as a sign that the younger man was nervous, a tic he had when his anxiety was getting the best of him. His scent shifted to something more worried and the deputy rubbed their cheeks together in an attempt to soothe him.
It seemed to work, at least a little, the Kitsune swallowing hard before continuing. "What if we made more good memories?"
Derek couldn't help the smirk that formed on his face, pressing it to a cluster of moles. "You mean, other than last night?" The younger man's arousal flared to life, his scent exploding in the Werewolf's nose and making him groan. His hand was slapped in retaliation, making him chuckle.
"No," he argued before see-sawing his head. "Kinda. I meant." He paused and huffed before pulling away and stepping over to the tree, crouching down before it.
The deputy watched with a cocked eyebrow, folding his arms over his chest as he peered around his Mate's form to try and see what he was doing. He'd placed presents for his family under there, having already delivered others to co-workers and friends, but he noticed a few more there that had been decorated in a different wrapping paper—as well as wrapped sloppily and with far too much tape, Stiles' usual habit when it came to wrapping gifts.
But Stiles bypassed all of them, instead grabbing something from behind the packages. He rose to his feet and turned around, eyes locked on what he held between his hands, exhaling shakily. A cherry wooden box with no paper, no bows, no decorations of any sorts, just scratched varnish, about a foot wide and eight inches tall. Without a word, he slipped past Derek and made his way to the couch, sinking down on the middle cushion, box now on his lap but still held between his hands.
"Do you remember what I told you about a Kitsune's tails?" he questioned, finally raising his eyes to his Mate.
Derek nodded, confused frown on his face, wondering where exactly the convo was going. "Yeah," he replied, scratching at his jaw before gesturing to his Mate. "You earn one with each skill you master and that Tom Yukimura helps make an actual physical manifestation of each one."
The second part he'd learned a few months after Parrish's transformation, when he'd earned his own healing tail and told Derek of how he was flying to New York for the weekend to talk with the Yukimuras and pick his new tail up. The comment had struck the Werewolf as strange, but after a full explanation of how it all worked, he finally got it. He talked to Stiles about it later that night, the Kitsune telling him that Mr Y was in charge of keeping Noshiko's tails safe and that he made them for both Stiles and Kira out of some hard black rock he could never remember the name of.
Stiles nodded on his couch, hands gliding over the lid of the box. "A Kitsune's tails are everything," he reminded his Mate, staring down at the wood once again. "Without them, they lose their powers and in extreme cases, their lives. It's incredibly important to keep them safe at all times."
Derek slowly nodded, licking his lips. Last part made a whole lotta sense. Wouldn't want them to fall into the wrong hands. Parrish had once told him that if someone held onto a Kitsune's tails, they could actually use them to control the Kitsune itself, hence him hiding his in an undisclosed location and never having shown Derek what it actually was.
Taking a deep breath, the younger man flicked out a claw and used it to unlock the latch before opening the box. Unable to resist it, Derek stepped over and sat down next to his Mate, peering inside.
The box was lined with burgundy velvet, nine slots sitting parallel in the main compartment, four of them occupied with a six inch black rectangle. Stiles slipped one of them out, holding it to the older man who took it with great care and inspected it. It was about an inch wide along most of it, the final inch or so about half that, an inch thick all along it. It was almost like a fan that was folded up, making it look like a rectangular bat.
"It's a tessen," Stiles informed him, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Most tails are modeled after a traditional Japanese weapon of some form and when I told Mr Y about how I used to hit you with that plastic wiffle ball bat, remember?" He paused as Derek nodded at the memory, the then-human using the toy on the Werewolf during babysitting sessions as they played some dumb game or another, Stiles wielding it like a weapon. "He said a tessen would be perfect for me."
The older man nodded as he kept inspecting it, cocking an eyebrow in question. "What exactly is a tessen?"
Stiles smirked, eyes sparkling with knowledge and delight. "It's a sneaky Samurai weapon," he explained, slipping another one out his box. "Usually they unfold into a metal fan, or a regular fan with steel edges used for cutting, but sometimes they're just like this and only look like a fan. But they're good for defense or for sneaking a weapon into a place where swords, knives, or shuriken aren't allowed."
His bottom lip stuck out in an impressed pout, thinking the stealthy weapon was very Stiles. Mr Yukimura clearly knew what he was doing when he crafted the tails for the Kitsune.
"Very cool," he commented as he handed the tessen back, watching his Mate put both back in their slots. "But I gotta ask, what's that gotta do with Christmas and making memories?"
The anxiety flooded back into Stiles' scent as he closed the lid and snapped the latch into place, locking it back up. "For obvious reasons, it's a bad idea for a Kitsune to keep their tails on them at all times and usually, they give them to someone they trust with their own life." An amused snort rocked him before he see-sawed his head. "Which, obviously, since it's their actual life at stake."
Derek inhaled deeply, holding the air in his lungs as anticipation built up inside. He had a feeling he knew where the other man was going with his words, but didn't wanna jump to any conclusions and wind up wrong and incredibly disappointed.
"Point I'm tryna make," Stiles began then paused, taking a deep, shaky breath and exhaling long. "Is that while I trust my dad and Scott with my life, I can't imagine anyone taking better care of my tails—and in turn, taking care of me—than you." With a shaky smile, he slid the box onto Derek's lap, swallowing hard as he pulled his hands back.
The Werewolf sat frozen, jaw hanging, brows raised in shock. Staring down at the lid, he noted the earlier scratches, realizing that while there were scuff marks—not a surprise with Stiles—the markings he'd believed to be scratches were actually carvings, Japanese characters running in three vertical lines. He ran a finger over them reverently, feeling a great sense of importance, even though he couldn't read them.
"It's my name," the Kitsune explained, scratching his head then pointing to the characters. "And 'Kasai'."
"Your kind of Kitsune," the older man stated on automatic before lifting his head to note the grin on his Mate's face, the sparkle in his eyes that had nothing to do with the Christmas lights shining around them.
"Yeah," he breathed out, scent full of happiness and pride, clearly touched that the deputy had remembered that fact.
Nodding, Derek licked his lips and looked back down at the box, hands smoothing over the wood before he held on to the sides. "I'll protect this with my own life."
"I know," the younger man said without hesitation, still grinning. "That's why I gave it to you."
More nodding before he carefully placed it on the coffee table, careful not to knock over the iPod dock, noting it was now playing Rod Stewart's version of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas", the slow melody perfect for the moment.
"Kinda wish I had tails to give to you," Derek stated as he leaned back on the couch, scratching at his whisker-covered jaw as he kept staring at the box. "Just feels like I should reciprocate or something." With a sigh and a shrug, he turned to his Mate, corner of his lips curving up. "Guess you'll just have to settle for holding on to my heart."
Stiles lit up even more than the tree and all the lights in the loft combined, diving at Derek and crashing their lips together. They rearranged so they were laying stretched out on the couch, the Kitsune sprawled over him, his head on the arm of the sofa, lips moving together in a passionate but unhurried way. The lights created a soft glow around them, Christmas music played on in the background, and Derek got lost in the feel, taste, and scent of his Mate.
The way things were meant to be.