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Stiles is getting real tired of his dad asking if he wants to bring anyone home for the holidays. He knows he means well, that his dad just wants something normal for him, but this is going a bit far.
“Son, it’s OK. No matter who you bring home. If they’re good to you, I’ll be nice to them.”
“No matter who, huh? What if I brought home Hitler?”
His dad is silent for a heartbeat. “You know what? I’m going to plan for three. Just in case.”
“Dad, no.”
“Love you, son. See you soon.”
If his dad is going to keep harping on this, Stiles is going to have to teach him a lesson.
#
Derek Hale is no one’s idea of an ideal boyfriend. It’s what makes him so perfect. That, and the butt-ton of favors he owes Stiles. It also helps that his Christmas plans were football replays and corn dogs.
“Dad, we’re here!” Stiles calls from the hallway late afternoon on Christmas Eve.
His dad pokes his head out from the kitchen. “We? Oh, Derek. Glad you could make it. I was afraid I’d have to drive out there and get you myself.”
Wait—what?!
“Excuse me?” Stiles squeaks. “You knew I was…dating…Derek Hale?”
His dad’s mouth purses. “Now, I know you think you can still pull one over on your old man, but I am the Sheriff. The werewolf thing, sure. Who could have seen that coming? But I have eyes, and you’ve been mooning over Derek for years.”
Years?!
Derek looks just as confused as Stiles, but he steps forward and shakes Stiles’ dad’s hand. “Sheriff. I appreciate the invitation.”
“John is fine when you’re not in custody, son. Why don’t you boys kick back.” He heads back into the kitchen.
“So,” Derek starts when they’re alone. “You’ve been mooning over me for how long now?”
The rest of the night goes as poorly as the start. His dad and Derek get on like a house on fire (OK, poor analogy). They talk football, baseball, rugby. They bond over the best places to fish in a two hour drive. Derek offers his help on Stiles’ dad’s upcoming bathroom remodel.
Finally, Stiles’ dad heads up to bed and Stiles walks Derek to the door.
“You should still come back tomorrow. Even if that plan backfired miserably,” Stiles grumbles.
Derek stands in the doorway, looking awkwardly handsome, hands in his pockets. “OK,” he says. “No kiss goodnight?”
“You don’t have to actively make fun of me, y’know? I know you know that thing about the crush was true.” He may be pouting–Santa would not approve.
“I’m not making fun of you,” Derek says, then leans in and plants the softest kiss Stiles has ever received right on his lips.
“Holy shit,” Stiles breathes, before tugging Derek back in before he can run away.
#
The next morning, the doorbell rings at 9AM sharp, just before presents.
“Hey dad.” Stiles grins. “Wanna meet my boyfriend?”