Sterek One-Shots (tumblr edition)

The Purple Blanket of Snuggling

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Author: FlutterFyre

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Derek watched, with a low tingle in the bottom of his stomach, as Stiles burst through his loft doors with the usual manic energy that he couldn’t hope to keep up with. There were words about “Hallmark” and “chocolate” and “consumerism at its worst” but Derek wasn’t listening. He too a small swig of the liquor he’d picked up from Deaton earlier and stuffed it back in the freezer before turning to Stiles.

Yes, Derek was, indeed, thinking about the fact that today was a holiday. One of his least favorite, really, given that only one of his few lovers were ever celebration worthy. While Braden had texted him an emoticon smooch earlier in the day, they weren’t really that kind of couple. Or a couple at all, in fact. She was gone, and Derek was happy to see her happy, and Stiles…

Stiles was here, smelling of indignation underlayed with well-hidden sadness — something that bothered the slowly-to-rise contentedness he felt seeping through him as the liquor took hold. It was a holiday, dammit, and Derek wanted to do something to mark it as such. Even if he and Stiles weren’t technically anything yet… even if Stiles was only here because Scott was busy with Kira, because his Dad was busy with Melissa, because everyone else was gone or dead.

And fuck that depressing thought. Today was about the celebration of relationships, and whether Derek wanted to admit or not, he and Stiles had a relationship.

“I have wine. And ginger ice cream,” he offered.

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“I don’t even get— wait… what? Wine? Ice cream? What?” Stiles stared at him, perplexed. It was Valentine’s Day. The worst example of crass consumerism in the so-called name of love and then there was that horrid movie that no one would stop talking about and why was Derek bringing up wine and ice cream? “What are you talking about?”

Not waiting for a response, Stiles wandered over to the couch and flopped down, propping his crossed-at-the-ankle, sneakered feet on the coffee table. He pointedly ignored Derek’s expression as it morphed from something earnest to a somewhat irritated scowl.

“I may be disinterested in consumerism in general, but I’m not stupid. I grew up with sisters, Stiles. This is a holiday for lovers, and since neither of us has one of those, it’s wine and ice cream.” Derek turned to the shelf next to the fridge, muscles rippling sensually under his shirt as he reached up and pulled a couple of wine glasses from the shelves over the counter. They were distressingly modern in the abandoned-chic of the loft, tracks where the stem slid between two rails until the glass pulled free, but Stiles supposed it was less expensive than installing actual cupboards. “I hope you like it dry.”

“Dude, you realize I’m underage, right?” Stiles stood and walked over to where Derek was pouring red wine from a green glass bottle. He licked his lips in anticipation and reached for the first glass. “And isn’t wine by definition wet?”

Derek stared at Stiles for a long moment, expression inscrutable. Then he shrugged and turned back to the fridge.

“I don’t care. Just don’t leave here drunk.” He pulled a two liter of Sprite free from the fridge then set it on the counter, grin crooked as he watched Stiles pick up the wine glass. “Just in case.”

Stiles raised his glass in a mock toast. “To crass commercialism, bad movies and good friends!” He took a large mouthful and nearly spit it out. Wha the—? People drank this willingly? Forcing himself to swallow, he lowered the glass to the counter and smacked his lips, eyes tracking to the unopened bottle of Spite before shifting to note the amused expression on Derek’s face.