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“Are you sure you don’t want to join us?”
Stiles turns around in his chair to face Erica, the fierce blonde, the Catwoman to his Batman. He snorts and shakes his head.
“No, I’m good. But thank you for inviting me,” Stiles smiles in response to Erica’s pout. “It’ll be just me, heaps of junk food and Netflix this year.”
Erica throws her hands in the air. “Ugh, you’re so boring. Don’t you think you deserve a night out? It’s going to be fun, I swear. Who knows, you might find yourself a man tonight,” she waggles her eyebrows mischievously, taunting him.
Stiles gulps involuntarily, because it’s common knowledge that he’s painfully single. Without a doubt finding someone to spend the holidays together with would be perfect, but Stiles is awkward on a good day, add alcohol to the mix and he’ll embarrass himself enough for a whole year.
“I don’t want to end up as a guy who didn’t score in a match-making party. That’d be too pitiful even for me.”
“It’s a Christmas party, you idiot,” Erica sticks her tongue out, like a five-year-old she is. “And for the record, you know you look great under all those layers.”
“Rude,” Stiles sniffs in indignation. “And what difference does it make. It’s a party where you try to mingle and stumble under the mistletoe with a stranger by accident and are made to kiss. Not my kind of scene, thanks.”
Erica’s blood red lips stretch into a devious grin. “Should I remind you of our senior year in high school? I still have pictures of all the parties we went to.”
Stiles squeaks in shock and gapes like a fish out of water. “Y-you, that’s blackmail and super evil. I want to revoke our friendship.”
“Just come with us, please. I promise to bring ice cream and movies if it goes badly.”
Stiles sighs in defeat and nods minutely. “Okay, I’m sold. But it better be chocolate mint chip,” he narrows his eyes at her, trying for threatening, but Erica laughs in his face and heads for the door.
“We’ll pick you up at nine. Be ready!”
Stiles thinks he’s never going to be ready for humiliation. That’s his life now though, so he gets up to try and find a suitable outfit.
---
The party is in full swing by the time Stiles, Erica and her better half Boyd, enter the spacious hall. It’s decorated with one garland too many, the Christmas lights illuminate the windows in all the colors of the rainbow. The tables are a mere few minutes away from breaking because of all the food that’s placed on them, and the tacky music is slowly making Stiles’ head beat into a headache rather than a joyous cheer.
“Well, it’s certainly worse than what I’ve expected,” Stiles notes dryly and thinks about making a beeline to the open bar to get something to drink, preferably something strong to stop him from running like the devil himself were on his heels.
Erica slaps him on the shoulder, which in actual truth hurts, because Erica is a brute and doesn’t hold in her punches. “Ouch, what the hell was that for?”
“Don’t be a party-pooper,” Erica says, still clinging to Boyd’s arm. “It’s called festive and I guess your small Grinch’s heart doesn’t understand. Now go and mingle, you fool. There are many fishes to catch tonight.”
Erica pushes him forward with a wink, while Boyd just nods in his direction silent as ever, and Stiles stumbles on his own two feet. Once he’s regained some of his dignity, he straightens up and heads to the bar, taking a small look over his shoulder, noticing Erica and Boyd already in the middle of the dance floor, wrapped up around each other, dancing to the horrible music. Stiles smiles, glad that at least his friends are having a good time.
Once he reaches the bar, he pours himself a glass of some pink-purple-ish monstrosity that’s supposed to be a punch. It smells and tastes alright, Stiles guesses, though it’s rather strong but getting drunk is the least Stiles can do tonight.
After his second, or third, glass Stiles notices a handsome guy watching him. He tries to check the man out inconspicuously, probably goes cross-eyed while trying to pull the impossible, and chokes on his drink when the man in question starts moving towards him.
Stiles quickly looks down, to check if his clothes are okay - no spilt drink on his tight red t-shirt or a drunken erection tenting his skinny jeans, which were a pain to put on. He deems himself rather presentable and tries to look nonchalant. Stiles feels, rather than sees, the stranger settle on his right and startles slightly when he hears a greeting with a voice not as gruff as he imagined the guy to have.
“Um, h-hi,” Stiles lifts his glass in an awkward wave and stops breathing when his eyes meet the stranger’s. It’s a combination of green and brown, maybe some blue too. Not quite hazel but definitely mesmerizing to look at. Not to mention the raven black hair, styled perfectly, the precisely trimmed beard, and muscles. So many muscles. The charcoal t-shirt is stretched tightly over the man’s chest, wide shoulders and strong arms encompassed in a snug leather jacket.
Stiles may be drooling a little at the sight.
The man breaks Stiles from his daydreams, sticking his hand out, “I’m Derek.”
Stiles stares uselessly at the proffered hand before catching up and shaking it. “Nice meeting you, Derek.”
Derek raises one of his impressive eyebrows without letting go of Stiles hand, and stares expectantly as if waiting for something.
“Well, and you are?”
“Oh, Stiles - I’m Stiles,” he says, feeling his cheeks heat up because of this small blunder.
Derek smiles, this big radiant smile, which makes Stiles go a bit weak in the knees. If not for the hand that is still holding Stiles’ own, he would already be on the floor embarrassing himself further.
Derek finally lets go of Stiles hand to pour himself a drink, and Stiles immediately misses the warmth. Derek’s hands are strong and big, Stiles wonders what it would feel like if they were pinning him down, holding him tight… And that’s an end to such thoughts.
“Are you here with someone?” inquires Stiles, wondering if he has at least a slight chance with this man, who is basically all Stiles’ wet dreams come true.
Derek shakes his head. “My sister is here somewhere. Probably chatting up the curly haired guy we met on our arrival at this very moment.” He smirks, like the thought is funny to him, and it probably is. Stiles doesn’t exactly know how it feels to have a sibling but Scott and him are like brothers, and Stiles has been Scott’s wingman since they were interested in love and beyond.
“Oh,” Stiles exhales in relief but quickly schools his expression into one of indifference, not wanting to show how comforting the thought of Derek coming to this party with his sister was. Although, that doesn’t mean Derek doesn’t have a significant other waiting for him at home.
“I came with my friends, who were dancing the last time I saw them,” Stiles quickly says, not wanting the silence to drag on. “Erica was the one who dragged me to this party. I was planning to spend it at home tonight with junk food and Netflix.” He forces an awkward laugh, trying to stop his mouth from running amok.
“Not a fan of parties?” Derek asks, raising his eyebrow again. And seriously, what’s the deal with those eyebrows? It’s like they have a language of their own.
“This kind? Definitely no,” Stiles says, taking a quick drink. “There aren’t enough Christmas lights to make me see where I put my feet while I dance to this music.” He makes a face and Derek laughs, clearly enjoying Stiles sarcasm. Though that was weak, even to Stiles’ standards. There’s something about Derek that makes Stiles put his feet into his mouth every two seconds.
“Oh, come on. It’s the 90s music, the best songs written to dance to,” he laughs again and Stiles joins in. Something light settles deep inside Stiles and he feels content, happy. It’s been a while since he felt remotely at ease with someone he just met, and he likes it. Likes it way too much, if the way he can’t tear his gaze away from Derek is any indication.
Stiles misses what Derek says next and he stops short, blinking profusely. “Sorry, what?”
“I asked if you would like to dance. With me,” Derek smiles softly and links his fingers with Stiles’ hand, the one not holding his drink. He stares dumbly at their joined fingers and breathes out shakily.
He squeezes Derek’s hand lightly and nods. “Yes. Yes, I’d love to,” he raises his head to catch Derek’s eyes, and what he finds there when their gazes meet, makes his heart do a somersault and his breathing catch in his throat. It’s want, pure unadulterated want. And Stiles feels the same emotions settle in his bones, lighting his body on fire, slight tremors shaking his body.
Derek tugs on Stiles’ hand and Stiles moves along with him to the dance floor, leaving their drinks behind. When they reach the throngs of people who are swaying to whatever song is on right now, Derek wraps one of his hands around Stiles waist tightly, tugging Stiles closer to his chest.
Derek is like a furnace, he’s radiating heat which seeps into Stiles, making his hands tingle… with something. Probably anticipation for what is yet to come. He lifts his hands, slowly running them up Derek’s arms till he can wrap them around his neck. Derek in turn slides both of his tighter around Stiles’ waist. It brings their faces closer together and Stiles lowers his eyes, trying to hide the small pleased smile that spreads on his face.
“I can’t believe we are slow dancing to Last Christmas,” Stiles snorts. “I’d bet anything my parents have danced to this song when they were young.”
“I have a feeling mine did too.”
Stiles lifts his gaze and finds mirth in Derek’s eyes. His smile is probably matching Stiles’ own, and suddenly Stiles is hit with the want to kiss that smile, to taste it. He wonders if Derek’s lips are as soft as they look, if the kiss would be gentle or biting and asking for more. Without noticing he starts leaning in, watches as Derek’s eyes flutter and settle on Stiles’ lips in turn.
A sudden loud laugh erupts on their left and they both get startled, letting go of each other because of it. Erica is standing before them, grinning wildly and obviously plotting something.
“Look up, boys,” she says while pointing above her head, and Stiles and Derek lift their heads up to see what she wanted to show them. When Stiles sees the mistletoe hanging on a red thread, he bursts into a full body laugh. Only Erica would interrupt the-almost-kiss to make them kiss for real.
She makes a go on gesture and waits patiently. Stiles turns back to look at Derek who still seems puzzled. Stiles places his hands on Derek’s cheeks, making sure his eyes are on him. “Mistletoe,” Stiles whispers to him and leans in.
Their lips touch chastely at first, like a sea wave kissing the shore gently, reverently. After a moment, Derek’s lips part and he lets out a small sigh, which gets swallowed up in Stiles’ mouth. Derek leans back in with more vigor, kissing him earnestly. His lips are as soft as Stiles has imagined, and the kiss is both gentle and demanding. Each brush of their joined lips feels like a current of electricity, and it makes Stiles cling to Derek harder, forgetting everything around him including Erica, who was standing beside them just a minute ago.
It feels like hours before their manage to part, though it couldn’t have been more than a few moments of heated kisses, and when their eyes meet each other in the poorly lit room, they both smile warmly back at each other. Derek leans in to rub his nose lightly against Stiles’, and it feels more intimate than anything Stiles has experienced in the past. His heart is still beating a tattoo behind his rib cage but he couldn’t care less. He’s happy, truly incandescently happy.
---
Stiles wakes up slowly, feeling warm and sated - happy - and tries to stretch his limbs. He finds himself wrapped up in strong arms, preventing him from moving far. Derek snuffles behind him and places a small dry kiss on his nape. Stiles smiles into his pillow, wondering how did he got so lucky last night.
He turns around to face Derek and opens his eyes to watch his face. He’s met with Derek’s beautiful eyes staring back at him, with wonder and fondness reflected in them.
“G’morning,” murmurs Stiles.
Derek leans in to kiss the corner of Stiles’ lips and Stiles moans softly, all the while trying to coax Derek into a real kiss, morning breath be damned.
“Good morning,” Derek whispers the words into Stiles’ mouth, kissing him again. Stiles snakes his hand under the covers to slide it over Derek’s back, touching between his shoulder blades, where he knows the Triskele tattoo is placed.
“How about breakfast in bed?” Stiles asks, though he doesn’t feel like getting up yet. The bed feels too comfortable and warm for him to leave it.
“In a moment,” Derek says, snuggling closer. He kisses Stiles on the forehead and sighs softly, his breath ruffling Stiles’ hair. They stay like this for a while, enjoying each other’s company, touching wherever they can. Stiles can’t remember the last time he was this happy and he definitely doesn’t feel like losing it yet.
“Hey, Derek,” Stiles says softly.
“Yeah, Stiles,” Derek answers him just as softly and Stiles hides his smile into Derek’s chest.
“Merry Christmas,” Stiles says and kisses the skin that’s in front of him, trying to pour everything that he feels at the moment. He must succeed because Derek tightens his hold on Stiles and murmurs a “merry Christmas, Stiles” into his hair.
Stiles thinks he owes Erica big time for dragging him to that horrible party after all.