When Derek walked in to find Stiles handcuffed to a kitchen chair, he stopped in his tracks and just stared for a few moments. Stiles stared back, his expression defeated, his eyes showing the kind of exhaustion that's unique to someone who has spent a whole day chasing after two hyperactive six-year-old werewolf boys the night before a full moon. Derek felt a growl rising in his throat and fought it down. "Where are they?" he asked instead, keeping his tone carefully neutral.
Stiles sighed. "I would wager they're holed up in the playroom Mario-Karting their asses off since I grounded them from it for the day." He pointedly jingled the bracelet encircling his wrist, which was attached to one of the slats along the backrest of the chair. "Can you...?"
Derek scanned the kitchen and saw the key resting on the counter next to the microwave. He made quick work of unlocking his husband, who immediately began massaging his wrist as Derek leaned in to plant a somewhat distracted kiss on his lips. "Don't worry, I'll handle this," he said.
"Derek."
This had been a point of contention for them in recent weeks, as their adopted sons' behavior had escalated from minor mischief to potentially dangerous hijinks. It was a good sign, Stiles insisted, an indication that after almost seven months of being in their care, the boys were feeling comfortable enough to misbehave. Derek wholeheartedly disagreed, believing that laying down the law was not only important but necessary, lest they end up with uncontrollable twin monsters.
And that was easy enough for him, as the boys had a natural healthy respect for the Alpha, viewing him with undisguised awe and obeying his instructions at least seven times out of ten. (And the other three times, they regretted it but quick.) For Stiles, the average was one in ten, and usually the obedience was coincidental, not intentional. It was depressing him, and, more, it was putting undue stress on their relationship.
"I was handling it!" Stiles had protested one day two weeks ago, when Derek had walked in to see both boys jumping gleefully on their beautiful black leather sectional, blond curls bouncing chaotically as Stiles repeatedly (and unsuccessfully) grabbed for flailing appendages he could use to pull them back to solid ground.
"It didn't look good from where I was standing!" Derek protested. "You're way too easy on them, Stiles."
And true, all it took was one Alpha growl from Derek to snap them to attention, a command to "Get down NOW" and five minutes facing the wall in separate corners before they were sniffling and full of contrition and apologies. Stiles didn't want to be jealous of his husband's far superior child-wrangling abilities, but he was. And it was becoming quite a sore subject.
So now, at Stiles's one-word objection, Derek took a deep breath and a step back, gesturing for Stiles to lead the way to the playroom. He could just be backup, he figured, maybe flashing Alpha eyes at the adorable brats from behind Stiles’s shoulder. But Stiles stopped him from following by placing a hand on his chest. "They'll never take me seriously if you're always bad cop," he said.
It was important. To Stiles, to the boys. To their family. Derek raised his hands in surrender. "I'm here if you need me," he said, and Stiles leaned in for a real kiss before Derek headed back to the living room to perch on the couch and listen from afar.
And what he heard was truly impressive. Stiles was stern. He was authoritative. He confiscated the contraband video game. He doled out early bedtimes as a consequence. He explained in no uncertain terms why their behavior was unacceptable and what would happen if they didn't start following the rules. He didn't even raise his voice. The three of them emerged ten minutes later, one twin in Stiles's arms and the other clinging to his shirttail, both of them looking sufficiently chastised.
Derek raised a questioning eyebrow at Stiles, who was clearly trying to suppress a smirk. "We're all good now," he reassured, knowing full well that Derek had listened to most of the exchange. "But Oliver has a question for you."
The twin at Stiles's side looked at Derek with wide blue eyes and said, "Why do you have handcuffs in the drawer next to your bed?"