Work Text:
Stiles....goes a bit overboard at Christmas. He knows this. His dad knows this. Scott knows this. The pack...does not. The last three years have been enough of a shit show that there really hadn't been enough time to do anything over the holidays. He'd thrown together a tree and decorations at his house but that's it.
But this year is different. The territory's stable, there hasn't been a threat in town in months. The pack is gonna learn about the spirit of Christmas: the holly jolly Stiles.
Stiles starts small. He waits until the day after Thanksgiving, as much as he is aching to decorate as soon as Halloween is over. (Christopher Columbus was a terrorist and Thanksgiving is a bullshit holiday, okay?) Stiles gets to the loft early for the pack meeting, a big box in his arms. Derek doesn't lock the door because he doesn't think anyone would climb to the top floor to break in (ha, shows what he knows), so he can just walk in.
Stiles wraps garland around the railing for the spiral staircase, hangs twinkling lights around the windows, and uses a bit of magic to hang colored bauble ornaments on clear strings from the ceiling. He puts out a plate of gingerbread cookies and settles in with his essay, waiting for the pack to come in.
About ten minutes later, Derek and Peter walk through the door, looking around in confusion. Stiles pays them no mind. If they want to ask something, they can. Before they can, Scott walks in, clapping Derek on the shoulder as he walks in. He snags one of the cookies and sits next to Stiles.
"Stiles," Derek says slowly. "What's...what?"
"What?" Stiles asks.
"Why is there Christmas stuff everywhere?" Derek asks.
"Oh, this isn't everywhere," Scott says, chomping off the head of his gingerbread man. "If it doesn't look like the North Pole threw up in here, he hasn't even gotten started yet."
"Okay...but why here?" Derek asks. "Why not, I don't know, his own house?"
"I will, don't you worry your pretty little alpha head," Stiles says. "Thank you for decorating, Stiles. Oh, you're welcome, Derek!"
Derek by this point knows when arguing with Stiles is a lost cause, and just sighs, walking past them to go up to his room. Peter takes a gingerbread cookie, looking thoughtful. Stiles raises an eyebrow, expecting a smartass comment.
"Did you make this?" Peter asks.
"Fuck yeah, I did," Stiles says.
Peter hums and takes another bite. "This is good."
Huh.
Phase one of Operation Hale Pack Christmas is complete.
Phase two requires help. He enlists Lydia because he's seen her house at Christmas, he knows that she would be an asset. They drive to a tree lot and pick out the biggest tree they can tie to the roof of Stiles' Jeep without it dragging on the ground behind them. The loft has tall ceilings and they're going to make the most of it.
They know Derek wouldn't want a stranger in his loft, so they drag the tree upstairs themselves. Lydia had dressed in yoga pants and an exercise shirt to avoid ruining good clothes and actually helps Stiles drag the tree up the stairs (he really needs to get on Derek about getting the elevator fixed) because if there's something Lydia can get behind, it's Christmas decor.
Panting, they lean the tree against the wall, looking up at it in trepidation. It's a good fifteen feet tall and it's a small miracle they managed to move it by themselves. Stiles really has no idea how they're going to get it into the tree stand.
"We may have been a bit overambitious," Stiles says
"No such thing," Lydia says, looking up at the tree. "Okay, maybe a bit."
"Wanna bring in the ornaments and shit first and deal with that later?" Stiles asks.
"Yes, absolutely."
It takes another four trips until all the boxes with lights and decorations make it inside. Lydia goes back to eyeing the tree and Stiles is sure there are mathematical equations dancing in her head about how to best lever the tree to get it in the stand. Maybe a rope and pulley system? Stiles' magic isn't strong enough to move things this big yet, at least not with any accuracy beyond throwing it in a bad guy's general direction.
There's a throat clearing behind them and Stiles and Lydia both jump, whirling to see Peter standing at the bottom on the spiral staircase. He looks softer than Stiles has ever seen him, well worn jeans and a sweater, and oh my god, he has slippers on. Peter Hale owns UGG slippers.
"You would be truly terrible cat burglars," Peter says. "I heard you on the first floor."
"Well I wouldn't be stupid enough to cat burgle a werewolf. Why the fuck didn't you help?" Stiles asks, heart still racing a bit.
"Where would the fun be in that?" Peter asks.
"You're such an asshole. Well since you're here, help us get the tree in the stand," Stiles says.
Surprisingly, Peter obeys, walking over to them. He lifts the tree easily, which is just obnoxious considering how much Stiles and Lydia struggled with it. Peter holds the tree steady while Lydia and Stiles slide the thick, heavy stand underneath it, then twist the screws into place. It's not exactly elegant, both Stiles and Lydia get a face full of branches in the process, but when it's done and the cut off the rope and fluff the branches, it looks goddamn majestic and Stiles hasn't even started decorating it yet.
"Peter, you're being enlisted in the Stiles Army of Christmas Joy," Stiles says. "Grab a box and start unwrapping ornaments."
Peter gives him a sarcastic salute, but again, he actually listens. While Lydia starts stringing lights on the tree, Stiles and Peter unwrap the tissue paper from around the ornaments, laying them all out on the couch and coffee table. Stiles puts on his Christmas playlist, which is like seven hours of his favorites.
"So why exactly are we unwrapping them all first instead of just putting them on the tree as we go?" Peter asks.
"That's inefficient," Stiles says.
"We unwrap them all first so we can spread out each type of ornament over the tree," Lydia says. "We don't want three green baubles next to each other with no drop ornaments nearby."
"It would be chaos and madness," Stiles says sagely, nodding in agreement.
Peter rolls his eyes but doesn't argue. They work well together, which Stiles isn't really shocked at. The three of them tend to be the most pragmatic of the group. Well, them and Derek, but Derek needs to be nudged to work with others sometimes. Peter and Lydia have a delicate truce built on sharp comments that only hit superficial targets, nothing truly damaging, so the three of them alone isn't awful.
When Lydia can't reach any higher, she switches with Peter and Stiles, moving to unwrap ornaments while Stiles gets on Peter's shoulders to string up the lights on the top half of the tree.
"If you drop me, I will break your kneecaps," Stiles threatens.
"That's not very jolly of you," Peter says.
"I'll draw a Christmas tree on your cast," Stiles says.
Peter doesn't drop Stiles. He keeps his hands tight on Stiles' thighs, not letting him budge an inch while Stiles carefully weaves the lights through the branches. They probably could have gotten away with half the lights in all honesty, but Stiles is Extra and lights his trees bright and shiny.
Before Peter can put Stiles down, Lydia tosses him a roll of wide red ribbon. Peter curses when Stiles wobbles precariously, trying to catch the ribbon, but he doesn't drop him.
"Since you're already up there, start the ribbon," she says.
"Ma'am, yes ma'am," Stiles says. "You good with waterfall?"
"Perfect," she says.
Peter looks like he has no idea what they're talking about, but he still moves when Stiles tells him to, watching him weave the ribbon vertically down the top half of the tree.
"What's this song?" Peter asks.
"Adam Sandler's Hanukkah Song," Stiles says. "Okay, to the left."
Stiles had expected a bit of resistance honestly. He'd thought Peter would be a Grinch just for the sake of being a dick, but he helps without (much) complaint. It's more fun than Stiles thought it would be. It makes him wonder if Peter's actually enjoying this, then wonder when the last time Peter celebrated a Christmas. It makes something in his chest ache more than he thought it would.
Ribbon and lights done, they move on to ornaments. Stiles gives Peter strict instructions on how to arrange the ornaments, how to make sure two colors don't touch (they have red, white, light green, sparkling red, sparkling white, and sparkling light green going on in baubles). He's adamant that the baubles, drop ornaments, and onion ornaments are are spread out from each other as possible to not cluster in one area.
"Onion ornament?" Peter asks.
"The white and green ones shaped like an onion," Lydia says, pointing to a row of onion ornaments.
"Okay," Peter says slowly.
"This is serious business, Peter," Stiles says sternly, but he can't help the twitch of his lips, and neither can Peter apparently. Lydia makes a disgusted noise and grabs a handful of ornaments, pushing past them.
Stiles gets on Peter's shoulders again to do the top half of the tree. It takes a few hours of Lydia passing ornaments to Peter to hand to Stiles before they're done. They have baubles, drop and onion ornaments, plus stars, snowflakes, and a bunch of little sparkling white wolves that he hadn't been able to resist.
Stiles offers to let Lydia put the tree topper on, a red metal starburst-style star he'd found, but she tells him there's no way in hell she's getting on either of their shoulders. Stiles shrugs and puts the topper on himself, fluffing the sparkling green and white flocked willow picks that accent the top of the tree.
Peter puts Stiles down carefully, his hands lingering a bit longer than strictly necessary, before they all step back to admire their handiwork. Stiles feels gross and sweaty still from dragging the tree around, but Peter and Lydia both look perfect, the dicks. It was worth it, though. The tree looks like something out of a high end boutique, which is exactly what Stiles was going for. Even Peter looks impressed, which Stiles takes as a huge victory.
"Is Derek gonna hate it?" Stiles asks.
Peter shrugs. "It's hard to tell with him, but I don't think so. He might be a bit weepy about family Christmas memories, but I think he'll like it," Peter says.
"Does it give you weepy memories?" Stiles asks. "I don't want to make shit harder on your guys..."
"A little late for the concern," Peter says, but Stiles can tell he's teasing. "No, it doesn't. They're memories I like and am fine having brought up. This is good, Stiles."
Stiles sags a bit in relief. He hadn't really thought he and Derek would be pissed, but there was that niggling doubt in the back of his mind. Lydia lays down the striped tree skirt, arranging a
Santa, sleigh, and a few other knickknacks around the base of the tree.
"So since there's no fireplace and no mantle, we're going to need to get creative," Stiles says.
"You're not done?" Peter asks, eyebrows raised.
"Dude, this is phase two of five," Stiles says. "I'm not even close to being done."
Peter pinches the bridge of his nose but doesn't actually argue. Smart man.
"Okay, what's the creative solution to no mantle?" Peter says.
"I have a reappropriated mantle from a house the county repossessed - "
"Is this a legally-obtained mantle?" Lydia asks.
"Not even remotely," Stiles says, "But we're going to attach it to the wall so we can hang stockings and do mantle decorations. And before you get worried about it tearing down the drywall, I brought a stud finder and we'll do it right."
The mantle had fit in the back of the Jeep but only just. The trunk may have been open a bit, but that's neither here nor there. Peter does help carry that in, though Stiles has to mildly threaten him to get it done. Peter's surprisingly handy and it only takes a half hour until the mantle is hung. It looks a little odd in the middle of the wall with no fireplace under it, but Stiles had planned for that, too.
Strings of lights are hung from the ceiling, covering the entire wall in a curtain of twinkling lights. It frames the mantle well, makes it look like more of a shelf than a big hunk of wood in the middle of the wall. Stiles sets pillar LED candles beneath it to make it look like the illusion of a fireplace and bam, instant mantle.
Lydia excuses herself then, having to get home and change for dinner with her mom, leaving Stiles and Peter alone to decorate the mantle. Peter's contribution is mostly handing things to Stiles when he gestures for them.
"Why are you here?" Stiles asks as he places the sparkling white mantle runner just so. "I thought the pack was doing some big camping trip? Which is stupid in winter, by the way, even if you do run hot."
"That's why I'm here," Peter says. "I'm not camping in December, and I'm certainly not doing it when a bunch of hormonal teenagers in perfect hearing distance."
"Okay, fair," Stiles says. Peter hands him the mini trees Stiles points to. "Aren't you bored though?"
"I enjoy my time alone," Peter says, which is a very non-answer. "Tell me, why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?"
"Christmas at the loft," Peter says. "Why not at your house?"
"Well first, I have way more decorations than could possibly fit in my house. Believe me, my house is done and it looks fantastic," Stiles says. "And second, well..." Stiles pauses there because it's hard to really word shit without offending anyone. It's not pity, and he knows Peter wouldn't take it well if it were, and he doesn't want to come across like that.
"Well?" Peter prods.
"Okay, look. Every Christmas since the pack came together has been crap. Three years ago was that yeti, two years ago was the witches, and last year was the amazing disappearing nemeton fiasco," Stiles says. "We deserve a nice Christmas. You and Derek deserve to have Christmas again since god knows how long. Boyd deserves a Christmas that isn't tinged with his parents' grief over Alicia. Isaac, as much of a twat that he is, deserves a Christmas with people who aren't abusive pricks like his dad.
"Erica deserves a Christmas not in the hospital, Lydia deserves a Christmas where her parents aren't fighting or serving each other divorce papers, and Allison deserves one without having to see her psycho extended family," Stiles says. "Hell, Scott and I deserve one where the only people in our families aren't working. And I like Christmas, okay, and I like sparkling and shiny things and it's happening."
Peter's looking at him oddly, not at all fooled by the spewing of Christmas love at the end of Stiles' rant. Stiles flushes a bit and turns back to the mantle, arranging the little carolers next to the mini trees. Peter wordlessly hands him more twigs of holly to arrange, watching Stiles' hands move. It's a few minutes before Peter speaks.
"Thank you, Stiles," he says quietly. The only times he's ever thanked Stiles have been sarcastic, as in 'Thank you so much for getting blood on my car seats, it really brings to luxury look together'. "Christmas was a big deal in our family. It hasn't been fun going the last few years without it. And they don't put Christmas decorations in comatose patients' rooms."
Stiles winces. It's not the first time he's hurt for Peter, and he's sure it won't be the last. Dude has been dealt a series of rotten hands. A slightly murderous rampage against the people that burned his family alive is absolutely understandable in Stiles' opinion, though not everyone in the pack shares that belief.
"I will make sure you enjoy this one," Stiles says quietly.
Peter just gives him a sad smile and hands him another little house for the village on the mantle.
Peter wanders off when Stiles is making minute changes to the mantle and tree, coming back a bit later with hot chocolate complete with mini marshmallows. Stiles takes his gratefully and collapses onto the sofa, more than happy to take a break.
"My mom used to make hot chocolate like this," Stiles says, taking a sip. "Hers was more marshmallow than chocolate, though."
Peter snorts. "Derek is the same way. He can deny it all he wants, but we all know the truth," Peter says.
Stiles laughs. "Yeah, I caught him trying to pass off a hot chocolate with eggnog as black coffee. Nice try, buddy," Stiles says. "Own the love of frou frou drinks. I do."
When Stiles' Christmas playlist runs its course, Peter turns on the TV, pulling up Hulu and playing the episode of Drunk History he and Stiles had been watching a week ago before Isaac had complained until they changed the channel.
"You didn't finish it?" Stiles asks.
"Without you? Of course not."
There are not little butterflies in his stomach at that, certainly not.
They watch a few more episodes until it's late enough that Stiles has to head home and make dinner. He takes a final picture of the tree and mantle, sending them off to Lydia, before he leaves. It looks pretty damn good if he says so himself.
"Okay, I will admit, the fifteen-foot tree would not have been quite as successful if you weren't here," Stiles says when Peter walks him to the door. "You're an asset to Team Christmas."
"How many names does this team have?" Peter asks.
"So many, dude. Anyway, thanks for the help, don't let the puppies throw each other into the tree when they get back," Stiles says.
He's expecting more banter from Peter. That's what they do, they banter until everyone else wishes their ears would fall off. Instead, Peter pulls Stiles in for a hug and oh, that's new. Goddamn, who knew Peter "Lucifer" Hale would give the best hugs on the planet? He holds Stiles tightly, strong arms solid but not restrictive.
It takes Stiles' brain a second to kick back online, but then he hugs Peter back, relishing in the physical touch. It's not so rare these days, Erica, Scott, even Derek are pretty tactile with him, but it's been a long time since he's been held like this. His brain nearly short circuits when he feels the press of Peter's stubbled jaw against his temple. Scent marking. Peter's sent marking him.
His stomach is doing the stupid butterfly thing again and he's sure Peter can feel exactly how fast his heart is racing. When Peter pulls back, there's not hint of teasing on his face, just calmness that for once doesn't seem like an act.
"Goodnight, Stiles. Thank you for all you've done."
Stiles trips over his goodbye, then literally trips out of the loft. Smooth. He waits until he's made it down at least two flights of stairs before banging his head against the wall. One hug and he's reduced to freshman Stiles who got tongue-tied around pretty people. Great.
Stiles doesn't think about Peter on the way home. He definitely doesn't think about how good being in Peter's arms felt. He absolutely doesn't think about what being scent marked by Peter means, especially when to Stiles' knowledge, he hasn't done that to anyone else in the pack except maybe Derek. And Stiles' knowledge is extensive.
He manages to put Peter out of his mind while he's making dinner, totally. Then Lydia throws a wrench in his plans when she texts him back.
Lydia: It looks great. Going to wrap yourself up in a bow and lie under Peter's tree?
Stiles: What? No!
LYDIA
NO!
Lydia: Just how stupid do you think I am?
Stiles: That is a TRICK QUESTION because no matter what answer I give, I'm fucked.
Lydia: Right, so you didn't get heart eyes whenever Peter was within three feet of you today?
Stiles: Nope, sure didn't.
Lydia: Uh huh. And remind me, which one of us was able to actually see your eyes?
Stiles: I hate you.
Lydia: That's not very Christmas-y of you. Look, there's nothing wrong with wanting to jump Peter. Even I can admit he's aesthetically pleasing. And you both have the loose moral compass thing going on. You might as well hop on his dick now while the hopping's good.
Stiles: Thank you for your help with the tree, okay, goodnight, let's never speak of this again.
So phase two...is a success. Though he thinks he may have made a tactical error somewhere and he isn't sure where.
Phase three. Phase three is a little harder because it involves actually getting the pack to do shit voluntarily. The tree and decorations had gone over extremely well, even Isaac complimenting them (Isaac would rather lick his own toenails most days than give Stiles a compliment). The constant stream of gingerbread cookies and other holiday treats have helped. But as active as they are as werewolves, Stiles knows that at their heart, most of them are just lazy as hell.
It's easy to get Scott and Allison on board. Ice skating is a callback to that awkward as hell date of theirs. Boyd is relatively easy, too. He's spent enough time at the ice rink that the idea of the Christmas-themed skate works for him. With him comes Erica, and Isaac because he hates to be left out. Lydia is all for holiday merriment, especially if it means not having to do it with her parents.
Derek and Peter are the tricky ones. He's trying to decide which route to go with for Derek. Blackmail? No, Stiles doesn't want to waste perfectly good blackmail material if he doesn't have to. Bribery? He doesn't know if he could meet Derek's prices. He's not strong enough to just drag an alpha werewolf to the car.
In the end he keeps it simple and just asks. He says it's pack bonding, it's holiday shit, it's important, it's important to him. He honestly doesn't have the faintest idea if it's going to work, but Derek says yes?? Stiles doesn't know which point convinced him, but he's not arguing.
Peter is another beast. He's not a fan of most of the pack members on a good day. Stiles is pretty sure Peter likes him and Derek, maybe Erica, and respects Lydia. He's indifferent on Boyd, irritable with Isaac, and completely dismissive of Scott and Allison. Stiles honestly doesn't know how he's going to convince him to give up his free time to go ice skating with them when he is happy to ignore most of them most of the time.
He decides not to present is as an option, but mandatory. He waltzes into the loft with his favorite scarf, long with stripes of blue, soft wool. He walks up to where Peter is making a sandwich and wraps the scarf around Peter's neck.
"Can I help you?" Peter asks, raising an eyebrow.
"We're going ice skating at 5:00. Don't want you to get cold," Stiles says. He turns on his heel and walks back out.
"I don't suppose I get a choice in the matter?" Peter calls after him.
Stiles turns around, walking backwards, to say, "Sure don't!"
Okay so the scarf might have had two purposes. One, yes, a nice little conversation intro. But also, it's Stiles' favorite scarf. He's worn it for the last two winters. He knows it's going to smell like him and after the whole scent marking hug, he wants to see Peter's reaction to that it. See, Peter's not the only one with six motives for every fucking thing.
The mall set up a cliche holiday rink in what used to be a Sears. Now it's big and empty save for the ice rink and bunch of tacky Christmas decor. Stiles loves it. Boyd immediately takes Erica by their hand when their skates are on. They look so much younger like this, like the two kids about to go to college that they are. Isaac is clutching the railing, slowly making his way around the rink, surprisingly with Derek by his side trying to teach him.
Scott has gotten a lot better, thank god, and hasn't pulled Allison down to the ice yet. Lydia laps them all, occasionally throwing in a small twirling jump, something that makes Erica and Boyd do a double take. Fuck yeah, get it.
Stiles hangs back on a bench, making a production of slowly putting on his skates. He watches them all with a small smile. He doesn't get sentimental often, at least not that he lets others see, but he bends around Christmas.
There are soft footsteps then Peter is sitting next to Stiles, kicking off his shoes to pull on his skates. He's wearing Stiles' scarf, and Stiles has seen him sniff it more than once. Stiles waits for him, even though his own skates are already on.
"This was a good idea," Peter says. "Hopefully Derek's ducklings will stay in line."
"I think they will," Stiles says with a shrug. "There's no one to really need to intimidate or fool here. They can just do their thing."
Peter hums and stands, holding a hand down to Stiles. Stiles takes it, lets Peter pull him to his feet. Neither of them let go when they get to the ice.
Okay. All right. So phase three is a resounding success. And Stiles is also officially unable to argue with the butterflies in his traitorous gut or Lydia's knowing smirk. Goddamm it.
PHASE FOUR. Okay, focus on phase four.
Phase four involves a trip to Target, one to Walmart, a few to the mall, a craft store, and the dollar store. He buys nine stockings, one for each of them, three green, three white, and three red to match the tree and mantle colors. He enlists Lydia's help (and good penmanship) again to use the glitter glue to write each pack member's name on the top of their stocking.
Stiles stuffs each stocking halfway full. He puts in all different kinds of candy, little trinkets picked out especially for each pack member, and an ornament he picked for each of them. Lydia's is a delicate mermaid based on how she'd told him she and her grandmother read that book. Allison's is Shih Tzu because she'd said once that she always wanted one, and so on. He didn't want to go with the obvious, something like a makeup ornament for Lydia or an arrow for Allison. They'd work, but they wouldn't be right. Stiles does this shit right.
Stiles waits until Derek is out frolicking with the betas to bring the stockings and the holders over. Stiles isn't sure if Peter's lurking around. It seems likely given his pattern of behavior, but Stiles doesn't care, just gets to work. He hangs Derek's stocking in the middle because he's the alpha and Stiles wants him to be both metaphorically and literally surrounded by the people that love him.
He puts Peter next to Derek, Stiles' own stocking on the other side. Peter's relegated to the edges of the pack enough already, Stiles doesn't want to do that even more. He could be reading way too much into stocking placement, but overthinking is kind of his thing.
"Does that stocking have my name on it?"
Despite knowing that Peter might be home and pop out of nowhere, Stiles still squeaks in surprise, almost dropping Erica's stocking. He glares at Peter before turning back around, placing Erica's stocking on the hook.
"Can you like stomp when you walk or something? Werewolves may be immune to heart attacks but I'm not," Stiles says.
"Your heart is strong," Peter says dismissively and, well, that's a weird thing to say. "Does that stocking have my name on it?"
"Yeah," Stiles says, glancing at Peter's, double checking it's not spelled wrong or something.
"Why does that stocking have my name on it?" Peter asks.
"Uh, because it's yours? Did you really think I would do something for everyone but you?" Stiles asks. Peter's silence says it all. "You asshole!" Stiles takes a Hershey's kiss out of Isaac's stocking and throws it at Peter's head. He snatches it out of the air, not even having the decency to let it hit him in he face.
"It's a valid assumption," Peter says.
"Sure, of course, you're my friend and I'd totally leave you out. I'm including Isaac, who I actively dislike, but you, nah, I ignore the one I actually like," Stiles says, working himself up to a full rant.
Before he can, Peter takes a few smooth steps until he's in Stiles's space, bracketing him in with one hand on the mantle on either side of him. His face is very close and Stiles forgets how to breathe a bit.
"You like me," Peter says softly, close enough that Stiles can feel his soft breaths.
"Yeah, you idiot, you're my friend," Stiles says.
"No," Peter says, shaking his head. "No, you like me."
Stiles flushes. "What is this, third grade?" he stammers awkwardly. "I, uh, got more to do before movie night, so - "
"What if I told you it was mutual?" Peter asks, cutting off Stiles' rambling.
Stiles' brain grinds to a halt and it really feels like that's a happening a lot around Peter lately.
"You - what?"
"It's very mutual," Peter rumbles, leaning in to drag his nose up the line of Stiles' jaw, stubbled cheek rubbing against his.
Stiles raises trembling arms, resting his hands on Peter's hips. Peter hums in approval, crowding in even closer.
"Th-this isn't a pity thing, right?" Stiles asks, voice shaking as Peter's nips at his throat. "Or, uh, misplaced gratitude?"
"I've never pitied you," Peter says, pulling back just enough for Stiles to see his face. "And I usually buy people things to show my gratitude."
"Oh, good," Stiles says.
Then he's lurching forward, kissing Peter for all it's worth. Peter growls against his lips, wrapping a hand tight in Stiles' hair. Peter kisses him back just as hard, full of passion and skill. Stiles has never been kissed like this, like he's someone's sole focus, like they want him to fly apart.
Peter's reluctant when he pulls away, like he'd rather do nothing else to kiss Stiles for the rest of the day. He rests his forehead against Stiles', both of them breathing harshly. Stiles' hands are bunched in Peter's shirt and he forces them to unclench, resting his palms flat against Peter's chest.
"As much as I would like to continue this, Derek just pulled into the parking lot," Peter murmurs, eyes closed. "And I don't feel like giving him and his betas a free show."
Stiles laughs, still catching his breath. "Fair," he says. "Do you want to continue later, or...?"
Peter open his eyes and pulls back enough that Stiles can see him easily without going cross-eyed. He looks serious when he says, "I need you believe me when I say I do. I don't do things halfway, darling. And I don't do anything I don't want to."
Stiles grins. He leans in for one last kiss before pulling back, fixing the stockings hanging on the mantle. It's hard to focus with the weight of Peter's gaze on his back, but he tries anyway. He doesn't want the pack to smell his ridiculous Peter-induced lust.
A few minutes later, the loft door slides open and with it comes to cacophony of sounds that usually follows the pack around. It's Erica that immediately notices the stockings, squealing and running over. She'd been a bit reluctant at first, enough that it made Stiles wonder if her family even did Christmasy things, but she's 100% on board with Stiles' brand of Christmas insanity.
"One for each of us?" she asks, peering over his shoulder to look at the fake mantle.
"Yep," Stiles says. "They're only half full so you guys can add stuff to each other's if you want to."
Erica grins and Stiles has the distinct feeling that they're going to be getting condoms in their stockings.
Peter sits next to Stiles when they put the movies on that night. The entire pack is squished together on the couches, a few of them sprawled out on the floor, so it's not odd that Peter has his arm around Stiles' shoulder. He's just saving space after all.
They start with A Charlie Brown Christmas, move into Home Alone and the sequel, Nightmare Before Christmas, Die Hard, and The Addams Family ("IT WAS RELEASED IN NOVEMBER AND STARTED WITH CAROLERS OKAY, IT COUNTS!") Stiles cuddles into Peter's side, smiling when Peter occasionally drops a kiss to the top of his head or nuzzles against his hair. Some of the pack give them weird looks, but Lydia hisses something too low for Stiles to hear when Isaac opens his mouth to say something, making him pale and shut up. Stiles has to ask how she does that.
Phase five requires some outside help because there's no way Stiles can cook a Christmas Eve dinner for a pack of werewolves on his own. As much as he'd like it to be a surprise for Peter (he likes surprising people he cares about), Stiles knows that he's probably the best ally for this. So the day before Christmas Eve, Peter and Stiles are in Peter's kitchen, preparing what they can make in advance for the next night's dinner. Stiles found a useful little spell that can keep objects in stasis, so theoretically everything will still be fresh tomorrow.
Stiles can cook. Not a whole lot, and not chef-worthy, but he can get by with a recipe. Peter, on the other hand, was probably a celebrity chef in another life. He barely glances at the recipes Stiles pulls up before pushing the phone aside. Peter claims reign over the prime rib, turkey, and ham, and Stiles happily lets him. He's always terrified for undercooking meat and getting food poisoning, so he ends up with everything overdone and dry.
Stiles busies himself fixing the three different kinds of potatoes and making the mac and cheese, which is something he knows he makes amazingly well. He and Peter move easily around each other in the kitchen, sharing easy touches and soft kisses when they have a moment. It'd be embarrassing how much Stiles blushes at the way Peter's hands rest on his waist when he squeezes past him in the kitchen, but he's pretty sure he heard Peter's breath catch when he kissed him on the throat, so he isn't too worried.
Even with the fancy double ovens Peter's swanky penthouse has, they can still only cook so many things at once, so once prep is done, there's a lot of sitting around time. Which is fine with Stiles, because he's never going to complain about having Peter to himself. Stiles spends it in Peter's lap, hands tangled in his hair, Peter's resting on his hips. Stiles tells himself not to rush, that he isn't going to just jump into bed with Peter, but it's difficult. Now that he can touch him, now that he knows Peter wants him back, it's hard to stop.
"The turkey is done," Peter murmurs against Stiles' lips, fingers tracing swirling designs over the bare skin of his hips.
"Mmm," Stiles hums, making no move to get up.
"That means I need to get up and take it out of the oven," Peter says.
"Let the pack have dry turkey, I don't care," Stiles says.
Peter snorts and stands, lifting Stiles as he does. Stiles yelps, clinging to Peter's shoulders, legs tight around his waist. Peter turns and dumps him on the couch, laughing at the outraged glare Stiles sends his way.
"I will not have my name attached to dry turkey," Peter says.
"Is that the Peter Hale motto? Perfection or nothing?" Stiles asks.
Peter just winks.
So yeah. Cooking is...fun.
The pack gathers on Christmas Eve for dinner because most of them have Christmas plans with their families. Lydia arrives to Derek's loft before anyone else besides Stiles and Peter and enlists their help to carry in boxes of fine china from her car, threatening life and limb if the pack breaks any of them. It's a beautiful deep blue with gold Christmas imagery and Stiles is a little in love with them.
Peter and Stiles carefully lay out the food, patiently rearranging it over and over to make sure everything fits. There's the prime rib, ham, and turkey for meats, then cornbread stuffing, three kinds of potatoes, gravy, mac and cheese, biscuits, and a salad for sides. Stiles still doesn't think they made enough but Peter says they're fine. If the puppies are still hungry, they can order takeout.
Much to Stiles' shock, everyone shows up close to on time. He strongly suspects Lydia threatened them, or maybe Peter. Or both. He doesn't care. What's Christmas without a little blackmail? They even sit orderly where Lydia had put place cards for each of them. Miracle of miracles.
The stasis spell worked like charm (ha, pun not intended), and the food is hot and perfect when Stiles removes the enchantment. It all smells incredible, the pack looks stoked, and Stiles is pretty damn proud of himself and Peter.
Stiles sits next to Peter, as far away from Isaac as they can be. Derek is at the head of the table as the alpha, though he looks a little surprised by it, the goober. Stiles eats like a champ, but he's completely outpaced by the rest of the pack. Peter's right though, they have enough food, especially when Allison brings out the pies and macarons she brought.
They're all sleepy messes by the time dinner's done, but Erica manages to rouse them all when she screeches, "Time for presents!"
The stockings Stiles had hung earlier in the week are no longer half full. Each is bursting at the seams, a few even have little pieces of candy falling out of the top. Ha, success. He will drag people in to the holiday spirit with him even if it's kicking and screaming.
Surprisingly, it's Derek that makes them open stockings first before attacking the presents under the tree. Peter, squished next to Stiles on the sofa, whispers in his ear that that's how Talia had always made sure they did Christmas morning. Stiles takes Peter's hand where it's resting on his knee, twining their fingers together. Peter's squeezes his hand.
They rip open their stockings, small gifts landing in their laps. Stiles recognizes the stocking stuffers he'd put in, the ornaments, socks, $5 Starbucks cards, candy canes, etc., but he grins when he sees the rest. Someone (Scott) had just dumped a bag full of Reeses trees in each stocking. There are stickers, more ornaments, and even little sketches that Stiles is pretty sure came from Boyd. Erica didn't put condoms in their stockings, but she did put a little vibrator in each of them. Stiles blushes when Peter holds his up with a wink.
It's a bit of pandemonium trying to get everyone to open their gifts one at a time, so Stiles gives up early. He's actually fine with that because he's always hated everyone watching him while he opens something, having to have a polite face ready in case he hates it. Fun anxiety things.
Peter kisses Stiles' temple before disentangling from him, leaning forward to grab a wrapped gift from under the tree. Stiles, wrapping paper snob that he is, approves of the artful bow and glittering paper. The gift tag shows it's for him.
"Is this something that's safe to open in front of other people?" Stiles asks, taking the gift when Peter hands it to him. "This isn't going to scar Scott or Derek for life?"
"I've saved that one for later," Peter says. Scott gags across from them before going back to watching Allison open his present.
Stiles tears the paper and opens the box to find an old book of magic, the energy pulsing off it enough to call his spark to the surface.
"Wow," he says, ghosting his touch over the cover. He's shocked he can't see sparks between his fingers and the book, the static pull is so strong. When he looks up, Peter's watching him intently, a pleased and almost hungry look on his face.
"I had a feeling it would speak to you," Peter says, eyes trailing over where Stiles' hands are tracing over invisible lines of the book cover. Derek is watching them closely, but Stiles barely notices, focused on the tug of the magic in the book, on the way Peter stares at him.
"Thank you," Stiles says, ignoring Derek. He doesn't want to know how much Peter spent on this or how long it took him to track down. As much as he would love to ignore everyone and read through the book, he's the one who insisted on a Christmas Eve dinner, so he places the book next to him, carefully out of anyone's reach, and continues with gifts.
Peter loves the charcoal grey sweater Stiles gives him even before he tells him it's coated in magic. His eyes light up when Stiles tells him the protective enchantments he wove into it, the enhancements to reaction speed. Peter keeps it close to him for the rest of the night, like he thinks someone would be foolish enough to try to take it away.
Stiles leans into Peter's side, watching happily (and let's be honest, a bit smugly) at the pack enjoying their Christmas, like he knew they would. He just needed to nudge (strong-arm) them into it. Boyd and Erica are cuddled together on one of the oversized chairs, talking in soft voices. Scott and Isaac are comparing video games in their hands, while Allison, Lydia, and Derek are in a feisty conversation about one of the books Lydia got.
"This is good," Peter murmurs in Stiles' ear before pressing a kiss to his temple. "You did well."
Stiles grins. He has this with the pack on Christmas Eve, and Peter's coming over tomorrow to spend Christmas with him while his dad works. Yeah, this is good.