Work Text:
Stiles stepped away from his latest piece with a critical eye. The base was done, as was the trunk. It looked promising, which was great news for both his latest customer and the week he’d spent on it so far.
He looked at it from each angle, walking slowly around it, thankful for the size of his and Derek’s new place. He could work from the shed, but it was cold in there. Besides, less room to move in the living room generally meant more time in the bedroom. And even watching tv in bed led to vigorous lovemaking for a couple who never got over the honeymoon stage.
Shaping scrap into beauty wasn’t just his living, it was his passion. He loved looking at something thrown out as trash and knowing he could turn it into something breathtaking. He often felt as though that was what Derek did for him, when he first saw Stiles. He saw beyond his mask, behind his shame, past his scars. He saw his potential.
All you needed was some patience and some tlc and anything could come alive again. Stiles himself was proof of that.
Stiles stepped back to his sculpture and grabbed one of his tools to tighten a bolt that didn’t look right.
He heard the front door open then close, and calm yet confident footsteps up the hallway. Only one person would waltz right in like they owned the place.
“Stiles, are you using tools? Tools that aren’t duct tape? Is this a mirage? It can’t be real.” Peter’s sass was on point, as per usual, but Stiles wasn’t in the mood.
“Quit it, old man. I need to concentrate, so help me or go home.” He turned the wrench tighter, the tool almost cutting into his hand.
“So demanding. If I knew you were this bossy, I’d have swept you off your feet before my nephew had a chance.”
Stiles didn’t need to turn around to know Peter was smirking. His boyfriend was the best, but his family? They were the actual worst.
“In that case I love Derek even more now. He saved me from you more than I realised! Now tighten this for me, you grandpa in denial.”
Peter mumbled something about not being that old and grabbed the wrench Stiles gripped tightly. He turned it easily and tightened the bolt more than the human ever could have.
Stiles turned to Peter to thank him, but stopped when he saw the look on his face. His lips were set in a small smirk, his eyebrows raised while his eyes were also somehow squinting.
“Is it a dick?”
Stiles spluttered and blushed. “No! It’s a tree!”
“Looks like a dick.”
“It’s not a dick! It’s a tree! There’s the trunk, and the base is the start of the root system. It’s a work in progress! And why am I justifying my work to you?”
“A tree....I don’t see it.”
“It’s a tree of life, to signify new life, and connection, and perpetuity, and fuck you! Don’t ruin this for me!”
“Stiles, we both know the only thing I could do to ruin other dicks for you would be to show you my own, so-”
“Lah lah lah, can’t hear you,” Stiles blocked his ears with his fingers. “You keep talking but I can’t hear you! You just like the sound of your own voice!”
“Well of course I do, I’m a lawyer. And Your Honour, according to all the evidence ever, including my own very reliable eyewitness report, that thing right there is definitely guilty of being a giant metal dick.”
“That didn’t sound like legitimate lawyering.”
“Pfft, what do you know, you fashion dicks out of random trash.”
“Derek! Please come kill your uncle to save me the trouble!” Stiles shouted it loudly toward the ceiling, knowing Derek would hear it even from upstairs.
Blue eyes mocked him silently as Peter mouthed the word “dick” at him.
“You’re the dick!” Peter always brought out Stiles’ childish side, they all knew this. Usually it wasn’t so bad, but he was especially sensitive when it came to his work.
“What’s this about a dick?” Derek entered the room, frowning. His eyes widened when they saw the sculpture and he frowned more. “Never mind, there it is.”
Stiles was outraged. He stomped his foot on the ground and threw his hands in the air as Peter laughed and laughed.
“It’s not a dick!”