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Derek thinks he's going to have a quiet evening at home. Then he thinks it's going to be a fuzzy evening with Stiles.
Derek Hale's Loft
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Unbelievably sexy Alpha and some intimacy between a werewolf and a spiritual pine marten |
The loft smells sweet still, although the baking was yesterday. The cake still sits, so pretty and flawless, uncut and intact in the glass cake display, under its glass dome. It's white, pure white frosting fairly flawless all over it. The Darth Vader apron hangs from the oven, visible and obvious to anyone looking for some kind of difference in the place from last time.
Derek sits on his sofa, absorbed in a book. His expression is intense even in relaxation. The sounds of Stiles' arrival are typical: The Jeep, the footfalls, the rumble of the elevator (instead of the stairs, this time), and then he steps inside. His eyebrows raise as he smells the baking scents, and he calls out, "Derek? Is it somebody's birthday?" And, glancing toward the kitchen, he spots the Darth Vader apron. This draws forth a big grin and a laugh. "Okay, what's up? You actually got a cool Vader apron?" He dumps his backpack, heading into the loft to find and hug the Sourwolf.
Derek grins to himself, setting the book to the side once he gets Stiles's scent. When he actually arrives, the grin becomes thousand-watt brilliant and he rises, stretching out almost like a cat, slow and languid at first. He throws his arms around Stiles, looking pleased with himself, in part because he's sure he did something especially good. He got it right.
"I just wanted to keep up my skills," he explains, about the cake. "If you want it, cut it. I haven't had any."
Stiles gives Derek a mildly reproachful look and says, "You baked a cake but didn't eat any? C'mon, Derek. What's the point of embracing the Dark Side if you don't get to have the cookies?" He rolls his eyes playfully, then turns to head over to the kitchen, perfectly happy to tug Derek along with him. "Now we have to both have cake, 'cause I'd feel wrong eating some without you."
Derek stumbles at first, but gets his stride easily enough after, keeping close behind Stiles. "Okay." He was saving it anyway, since Erica didn't want any after he baked it -- she was more a fan of the frosting. Which is good, but there's cake which makes it all better. The apron still has the faint remnant of flour puffs on it, here and there, not quite dusted off enough before it was hung on the handle of the oven.
Stiles goes to inspect the apron, picking it up, then turns to face Derek, looking thoughtful. He reaches up, abruptly, to attempt to put the apron on Derek, just hanging it around his neck, and if there's no real resistance there, he continues by reaching around to tie it on. Grinning slowly, he says, "You're gonna think I'm so weird, and I don't even care. Dude..." He pops up his eyebrows and smirks, intimating, "That's hot."
Derek raises an eyebrow, looking down as he's dressed in the apron, but he ends up laughing softly at the follow-up. "This is hot? I'll take your word for it." He reaches up to place his hand gently on Stiles's head. "I saw it while I was out. Thought you might get a kick out of it..." But he had no idea it would be this popular.
"Star Wars is officially the sexist thing ever, when you're involved," Stiles argues, and then he smiles more softly. "Besides, it's weird. I really like... thinking of you being all... homey. It's sexy and... nice." And it makes him remember that time, months ago, when they were snowed in together. Derek showed a protective, even nurturing side that Stiles had never realized before. And that was the start of everything changing.
"Are you trying to domesticate me?" Derek looks down over the apron, then to Stiles. He pats the younger man's head and then lets his hand drop to the shoulder. There's a slight teasing quality to the question, but under it all maybe a little genuine curiosity.
"Nope," Stiles says. "I'm just enjoying the domestic side you already have. It balances out the wild wolf, which is nice... but you know I like the wolf just as much." Grinning, he reaches up to brush his fingertips along the stubble of Derek's jaw. "Besides, I get to share the wolf with everyone, and that's cool. Alpha Derek, raaar. But this Derek? It's like a secret, and I get to see."
Derek rolls his eyes, but he keeps grinning. Clearly he likes this attention, angling his chin up into the touch. He's missed this. He's wanted to be touched for a while now, and they haven't exactly had as much time together as they usually do. "A secret, huh? I feel accomplished, in that case. Usually it doesn't feel like I'm even a little mysterious."
"Being mysterious," Stiles says seriously as he obligingly tickles his fingers under Derek's chin, "isn't the same thing as feeling mysterious. I think most people who feel mysterious aren't actually being that mysterious." He snickers some, adding, "I think most people who think they're being mysterious are actually being really obvious."
With a soft snort, Derek nods once, lifting his head and then lowering it again, looking into Stiles's eyes. "So," he moves his head lightly in the direction of the baked confection nearby. "Are you going to cut the cake? Or are you more interested in Darth Hale?"
"Please tell me I don't have to choose," Stiles laments, but then he's chuckling and heading for the cake. He retrieves a small plate and a knife, carefully lifts off the cover of the cake, and then he cuts a very generous slice of cake. Replacing the cover, he puts the knife in the sink and gets a fork. Taking a slice of cake, he then offers it to Derek. "You have to try it!" he declares.
Derek clicks his tongue and raises his thick brows, lowering his eyelids impassively. It's hard for him to keep himself so stoic for long around Stiles. He's really missed being around him, and they've had days apart. Days! Face softening back into his "big bad wolf" grin, he ushers Stiles to the cake. He's not going anywhere, after all. "I have to try it first?"
"Hm," Stiles says, then he gets a wicked grin of his own. "Or, better--together." He pops the fork-full of cake into his mouth, careful not to chew and spoil the texture, and then leans up to kiss Derek, planning to slip him a bite of cake, all sexy and smooth. And, while it's not quite as smooth as it could be, by some miracle there's no gagging, choking, or other utter failure. He kinda pulls it off!
Derek isn't sure about this. He closes one eye and narrows the other. "I'm a wolf, Stiles. Not a bird." But he just chuckles and leans in for the kiss, carefully taking about half of the cake-bite in his mouth, careful not to let crumbs fall all over. He licks his lips as he pulls back, nodding, appraising the taste of it all. "Mm." He didn't do a bad job.
Stiles visibly enjoys the cake, licking his lips clean, and then playfully rolls his eyes at Derek. "A bird would have eaten it first, then spit the chewed-up cake down your throat. A wolf... wouldn't eat cake. You're a werewolf. You get sexy cake kisses if you want 'em." He grins, waggling his eyebrows, and adds, "You also get lots of other things, and I bet you can use your imagination." He takes another bite of cake, this time chewing normally and offering Derek the fork.
"Wolves eat cake! Wolves eat all kinds of things." Derek looks almost shocked at the allegation. The rest, of course, warms him to the interaction. He slides his hands down Stiles's back and rests them just at the top of the curve of his rear. "I have a pretty healthy imagination," he answers, leaning in to take the second bite. "A pretty wild one, too," he adds, rumbling in his throat. And then he dips in suddenly, nibbling at Stiles's neck.
"Fine," Stiles retorts playfully, "A wolf wouldn't bake cake. That's what's awesome about werewolves: They get the best stuff of being a wolf and a human." The rumbling and nibbling make him moan a bit, though, and he leans closer against Derek, arms sliding around him in a firm embrace. "Okay," he murmurs, "I dunno which side that is, but I like it for sure."
Derek pulls back, licking his lips and leaning up to nuzzle. Stubbly nuzzles. A little scratchy, but soft. His fingertips drift down a little farther, hinting at a soft knead before his voice raises in a murmur. "Is the cake good?" He's pretty sure it is, but then it's baked to his tastes -- he's more uncertain that someone else might like it.
"Freakin' delicious," Stiles assures Derek, groaning softly, and he leans back into Derek's touch with his hips, craning his neck to accept the lips and grizzled nuzzling. "Sexy baking Derek, makin' tasty cake!" he can't help declaring, exulting in the moment.
Derek grins, almost as if intoxicated, all close to Stiles in the kitchen, wearing that Darth Vader apron again. They are enjoying cake. They finally cut the cake! It's been sitting since Erica visited, untouched, under glass. But now...wait. Derek's senses prick up. He looks urgently to Stiles. "Stiles," he mutters at once. "Erica. Ainsley."
This is expected to communicate all that needs to be conveyed. So he starts to move, trying to look casual. It makes him think twice, once he notices the apron on himself, which he quickly unties and yanks off, to be balled up on the countertop nearby, while he goes to welcome their guests.
Apparently, cake and whatever else will have to wait for another time.