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Derek walks into the kitchen one morning after his run to find Scott sitting alone at the table, eating cereal and reading a comic on his tablet.
“Morning Scott,” Derek says, leaning over his shoulder to rub their cheeks together.
“Gross,” Scott says, shoving a hand into Derek’s face without looking up or moving away. “I think we agreed no scenting when you’ve been running.”
Derek smiles and finishes nuzzling Scott, ignoring the hand in his face. “Why would I agree to that?” Derek asks. “It’s most effective when I’m sweaty.”
“Stiles and I agreed,” Scott clarifies.
“Where is Stiles?” Derek asks, moving away from Scott, heading for the coffee pot.
“Not up yet,” Scott says, sounding far too casual. Derek rolls his eyes.
“You mean hiding,” Derek says. He raises his voice, “You can come out, I picked up milk this morning before I went jogging.”
There’s a pause before Stiles’s answer comes, his voice hopeful. “And bacon?”
“If you wanted bacon, you should have put it on the list,” Derek calls back.
“I put blueberries and pancake mix on the list,” Scott says, putting down his tablet and smiling earnestly at Derek.
“There’s blueberries in the freezer, but we don’t need to get a pre-mixed batter, we can just make it from scratch,” Derek says.
“Derek’s making pancakes!” Scott calls out.
“I didn’t mean-” Derek starts to say, but is interrupted by Stiles barrelling into the kitchen and smacking into him in what Derek assumes is an attempt at a hug.
“You’re the best,” Stiles says. He smacks a kiss onto Derek’s lips and roughly drags their cheeks together before turning to Scott. “And you!”
Scott moves his chair back, catching Stiles as he lands in his lap and grins at him.
“Never again will I doubt the magic of the list,” Stiles says solemnly.
“I told you,” Scott says. “I needed shaving cream, and it delivered. I needed notebooks, and it delivered. I needed chocolate, and it delivered.”
“The list isn’t magic,” Derek says, exasperated.
“How dare you,” Stiles says. “I may have been dubious in the past, but surely even you can admit to the miracle that has occurred here this morning.”
“There was no mira-” Derek tries to say.
“Last night,” Stiles continues, undeterred. “Scotty here desperately wanted blueberry pancakes. He made his request to the list and lo, this morning there will be blueberry pancakes.”
“Scott, Stiles,” Derek says, making eye contact with each of them in turn. “You do realise that the list is just a way to keep track of what we need, right? The idea is that if you are going to the shops, you take the list and grab whatever’s on it.”
“Way to spoil the magic, dude,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “Next you’re going to tell us Santa Claus and werewolves aren’t real.”
Derek lunges across the room and snatches Stiles out of Scott’s lap, wrapping an arm around his neck and rubs his knuckles across Stiles’s scalp. Stiles flaps his arms around, trying to dislodge Derek, laughing and swearing.
“Scott, help!” Stiles begs, panting.
“Okay,” Scott says. He moves behind Stiles and starts tickling him.
“Help me,” Stiles says. “Not Derek!”
“Oh,” Scott says, not stopping. “I would, but Derek is making pancakes and you wouldn’t even spring for magical list bacon.”
“You guys are the worst,” Stiles complains. Derek chuckles but releases him, drawing him up for an apologetic kiss and a more thorough scenting.
“Ugh,” Stiles says. “What happened to no scenting before showers?”
Derek kisses him again in lieu of a response.
“I think I’m dying,” Stiles says, as he finishes off his fifth pancake.
“You could have stopped at three,” Derek points out. “Scott did.”
“No, I mean I’m full after only five pancakes,” Stiles says. “What’s wrong with me?”
“You’re getting old,” Scott says. Derek grins.
“You’re one to talk, mister stopping-at-three,” Stiles grumbles, moving closer to Derek and dropping his head onto Derek’s shoulder.
“I had a bowl of cereal and I’m having brunch with Allison at eleven,” Scott says.
“That’s my boy,” Stiles says proudly. Derek snorts and slides a hand around Stiles, settling comfortably on his hip. He starts nosing at Stiles’s jaw. “Where are you going?”
“To the Indian place near the bookshop,” Scott says.
“They do brunch?” Stiles asks. He shift around to give Derek clearer access to his throat. Derek’s not normally into doing anything like this in front of Scott, but Stiles chalks it up to another wolfy thing. Ever since Allison came back, he had been weirdly territorial and unusually affected by his instincts.
“I guess?” Scott says, sounding unsure. “What do Indians serve for brunch? I wonder if I should have another pancake, just in case.”
“Couldn’t hurt,” Stiles says. Derek looks up, abandoning the hickey he had just started sucking onto Stiles’s throat.
“You two don’t mark each other,” Derek says.
“What?” Stiles asks, startled.
“Bite, bruises, scratches,” Derek says. “I’ve never seen marks on either of you. You don’t have to be careful for my sake, I don’t mind.”
“Uh, thanks, Derek, but I guess we’re just not into that,” Stiles says, exchanging a confused look with Scott.
“Maybe you should give him a hickey,” Derek says. “On his jaw, or his collarbone if he’s going to wear that shirt open necked.”
“Dude, if you want Scott to have a hickey, give him one yourself,” Stiles says, laughing.
“What? No!” Scott protests, his eyes widening in panic.
“Never mind,” Derek says.
They clean up quickly. Stiles is trying his hardest not to giggle. Scott keeps rubbing his jaw and collarbones nervously. And Derek loses all sense of personal space, brushing up against Scott as much as possible. Once the kitchen is clean, Derek disappears for a shower and Scott and Stiles settle in to play some Xbox. Derek reemerges just before Scott leaves and shoves one of his own jackets at Scott.
“Just in case you get cold,” Derek says, glaring at Stiles. It just makes him laugh harder.