For Carrie @bleep0bleep, who expressed a mighty need--a very visual one at that--and I couldn’t resist
Happy Holidays my sweetest <3
It’s a very well kept secret that Derek Hale loves the end of the year and the festivities that go with it.
Well, “well kept”--as in, no one else out of the pack is aware of it.
It’s his own fault too.
Shouldn’t have baked gingerbread cookies for the first pack meeting that took place at the McCalls.
But since he became much more intimate, in all senses of the world, with Derek and his habits, Stiles catalogues all the ways Derek clearly embraces the yuletide cheer.
Cinnamon everywhere.
And Stiles does mean everywhere.
The tree is in their living room by the end of November, but Derek leaves it be, for a little while--more important things to do, Centaurs to fight, treaties to agree on as Scott’s right-hand man--and Stiles is quite happy to enjoy the scent of pine that invades their apartment.
Until Derek apparently cannot resist anymore, and starts placing ornaments on the branches.
Oh, he starts small enough--one guarland here, one bobble over there--and the infuriating thing, as far as Stiles is concerned, is that he doesn’t get to see the whole process.
By now he knows his wolf, okay, and if the silver bobble went on that particular branch, it’s not by chance.
Stiles is convinced that Derek carefully picked the place, maybe with his front teeth biting into his lower lip as he takes his decision, wagging his butt as he comes to terms with it …
Oh what a sight it must be.
So, one morning, Stiles is quite happy to see that it snowed enough to block the roads, and he returns to the apartment, bringing home two hot chocolates--with cinnamon and whipped cream and crumbled gingerbread--, expecting to be able to see Derek go cray-cray with the tinsel.
But that?
No, even Stiles couldn’t imagine that.
That, being Derek wearing more colors that Stiles has ever seen him wearing, all at once.
That, being Derek wearing leggings, not just any pair, no--there are snowflakes and reindeers galloping horizontally.
Oh dear Lord, sweet baby Jesus and the whole manger crew.
Derek’s ass is criminal--definitely going on Stiles’ naughty list, and he doesn’t care what Santa has to say.
The socks, he recognizes--they are his fuzzy socks, but he gladly lets Derek borrows them.
Ah, first time for everything, but Stiles really wants to feel those socks against the skin of his shoulders right now.
And then there is the fucking sweater.
Sweet Rudolf.
It’s a pretty innocuous knitted sweater, all things considered. Your typical Winter sweater, with lines of snowflakes and a sort-of turtle neck.
But it looks so fluffy, so comfortable--damn, it’s the fucking Henley with the thumb holes all over again, Stiles wants to get Derek to sit to cuddle him in this sweater.
Sure enough, and Stiles dedicates a small part of his brain to congratulate himself for knowing his boyfriend so well, Derek is moving from one foot to the other while he fiddles with a string of lights, moving it in front of the tree before shaking his head and moving it elsewhere, groaning and mumbling to himself, as if Stiles is not--
Oh right, Derek doesn’t know he’s here.
Wait, Derek should know that he’s here.
Is he so focused on the damn evergreen that he didn’t even sniff his own boyfriend making a grand return?
And bearing hot chocolates, too??
“Ahem.”
Stiles clears his throat, dropping his bag near the door and moving towards Derek who stands frozen on the spot, arms lifted with the garland.
Beautiful pose, too.
“I see you took a Christmas shower this morning?” Stiles asks as he comes to stands next to Derek, simply holding the cup of hot chocolate.
Derek drops his arms and takes the cup without a word. “I may have gone overboard.”
Stiles snorts. “You’re so overboard you need a life raft.”
Derek sighs. “You’re never going to drop it, are you?”
“Unless you manage to make me forget it,” Stiles replies, eyes back on the tree.
That’s the only explanation for the way he misses the sudden darkness in Derek’s eyes, the flash of blue before Derek invades his space, takes his face between his hands and kisses him senseless.
“How’s your memory going?” he asks against Stiles’ mouth.
“Still going--still going strong, I mean, those are leggings, Der--hmph.”
Just a rough doodle because Derek in a Santa hat won't get out of my head.
Stiles laughed through it when a stony faced Derek grudgingly allowed him to put the Santa hat on his head. He knew that Derek wasn't best amused but if Stiles had to bully him into ending his Scrooge regime he would. Later in the day, when the others had finally left - mince pies reduced to crumbs on empty plates, crackers they weren't supposed to have opened strewn around the kitchen, 'The Grinch' menu looping quietly in the background - Stiles was trying halfheartedly to pick up after the trail of messy destruction they'd left. He found himself pausing in the doorway to the front room, leaning idly, watching. The tree, which had looked haphazard at best after the pack had decided to decorate it, was now tidy and pretty and bright. Derek, Santa hat crookedly still on his head and a soft concentrated expression on his face, was reaching up to put the angel on top.
