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“This is an unmitigated disaster!” Stiles ranted as he threw his hands up in the air, the excess flour on them flying off and landing on the surfaces around them.
“It’s not that bad,” Derek said, trying very hard to keep from laughing at the absolute distress on the face and in the scent of his mate. It wasn’t a laughing matter and he was just about to control it when Stiles slapped his hands down on the table causing the bowl to jump and splash the beaten egg and melted butter mixture over the edge and all over his hands and the front of his shirt. That was the last bit that Derek could take and he barked out a laugh, slapping his hand over his mouth when Stiles turned a glare on him.
“It called for two tablespoons of salt, not two cups!” Stiles shouted, running his hands through his hair and smearing egg everywhere and not helping Derek’s laughter to abate even the slightest. “I can’t even get a simple recipe right!”
That did the trick, Derek’s mirth dying as quickly as it had started. He’d known when Stiles had suggested baking a cake that something was on his mind; although he loved to cook and was good at it, baking was never his strong suit. When he’d asked why there was a sudden urge to bake, Stiles had shrugged his shoulders and muttered something about Derek’s sweet tooth.
He still wasn’t sure what had prompted the desire to bake but he knew that a good cathartic cry was well on its way. This was something that had happened before, Stiles suggesting something unusual and then struggling with it so he could berate himself until he burst into tears. It was never a fun night for anyone involved and usually ended up in disaster, but on some rare occasions, Derek was able to curtail Stiles’ breakdown.
Reaching out a hand, he scooped up some of the flour that had spilled and held his hand out in front of his face. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled, sending the flour all over Stiles’ face and into his hair, sticking to the egg and butter there. After a squawk of surprise, Stiles’ face turned mischievous and Derek knew the fight was on.
The next few minutes were filled with food products flying around the kitchen, landing on every surface, and all over the two of them. It was going to be a disaster and take hours to clean up but the laughter coming from and the scent of meringue rolling off of Stiles as they chased each other around the island made everything worth it.
After ten minutes, Stiles’ breathing became a bit labored and Derek decided it was time to end the food fight. Vaulting over the island, he grabbed Stiles around the waist and twirled him around in a circle, glad when his laughter continued even as he relaxed into Derek’s hold. Their lips brushed, the taste of unbaked cake was unappetizing but the flavor of his mate beneath it worth it.
Just as the kiss deepened, there was a knock at the door and Derek’s head whipped up, his nostrils flaring. “Your father’s here,” he said, the look on Stiles’ face unsurprised as he stepped out of Derek’s arms and headed towards the front door to let him in.
Derek followed behind, trying to brush flour off himself and Stiles as they made their way there. Stiles pulled open the door to reveal John in casual clothes, a bakery box in his hands. His eyes widened and he let out a chuckle as he took in the both of them. “Flour and sugar is a good look for you two,” he said, holding out the box.
Derek looked over Stiles’ shoulder when he let out a small gasp. There was a clear window revealing a cake with purple flowers and the words, “Happy Birthday Claudia,” in the center.
Burying his face in Stiles’ shoulder and wrapping his arms around his waist, the entire day making a lot more sense. He could feel the hitches in Stiles’ breathing and the moment that John joined the hug, pulling both Stiles and Derek into his arms. Moving, Derek was able to wrap one around John, the three of them sharing a moment that Derek wasn’t sure he had a right to share.
Later that night, when the cake was gone and Stiles was beginning to nod off on the couch, coming down from the emotional roller coaster of the day Derek walked John to the door. “Have a good night, sir.”
“I’ve told you to call me ‘John’,” he admonished and Derek nodded. After a moment, John studying his face, he clapped a hand down on Derek’s shoulder. His smile was soft when he whispered, “Maybe, just maybe, you should call me, ‘dad’.”
Derek choked out the word as John pulled him into another hug. “She would’ve loved you, son.” Pulling back, he pressed his forehead to Derek’s like he’d seen him do to Stiles many times. “After all, her son and I do.”