Work Text:
After only a few seconds, there’s a howl from Erica - more of a half-whistle, half-howl, honestly. It’s quickly cut off and replaced by mumbling. Someone - Boyd, probably - has presumably managed to get his hand across her mouth and is wrestling her to keep it there, which explains the grunts. Stiles can feel Derek’s mouth curve into a smile under his, but they keep kissing. A bit later, there’s the slap of a palm on a forehead and a low groan. The groan sounds like Scott, and the slap was probably him throwing his hand up to hide his eyes. Even though Stiles and Derek have been together for a few years now, Scott still acts like a little kid grossed out by his parents whenever they do anything couple-y in front of him. Unless he’s drunk on the wolf-adapted whiskey Stiles and Deaton cook up every once in a while, and then he snuggles with everyone and asks them to join him and Allison in a threesome, or foursome, or whatever group-sex-configuration his cheap-date brain can come up with. Stiles has been tempted to take him up on it, just for the entertainment value of the morning after, when Scott realizes what he’s done and who’s junk he’s touched, but then he’d have to deal with Derek’s insecurities for the next decade, and he’s done that once (c.f. most of sophomore and junior year in college) and most definitely does not want another t-shirt.
Stiles can hear Allison’s little giggle at Scott’s reaction, and the light smack of what might be a kiss on his cheek in response. Derek shifts his hands on Stiles’s back, and pulls him closer, angling his face to the side. From his new vantage point, he can see, out of the corner of his eye, Isaac looking completely doe-eyed, holding hands with Vanessa. Van’s wearing a floral dress that’s perfectly appropriate for the grove of trees where Stiles and Derek had decided to hold the ceremony, and somehow it totally works with her sleeves of tattoos and the plugs she wears in her stretched earlobes. Derek’s mouth turns more demanding, as if he can hear Stiles’s mind wandering (it would explain a lot, actually, especially back when they’d been teenagers) and Stiles closes his eyes, sinking into the kiss. Some time later - Stiles isn’t really sure how long; Derek’s kisses are really absorbing, you know - there’s a low clearing of someone’s throat from behind them, probably Doc Deaton, who’d performed the ceremony. Derek’s turned Stiles around a bit, and from behind his head Stiles can see his dad quirking his mouth and ostentatiously checking the watch on his wrist. Stiles flushes a little and makes to pull away, but Derek pulls him back in with a large hand on the back of Stiles’s head and firmly kisses him for a few more seconds. When they finally pull apart, only to grin at each other from only inches away, Lydia’s voice can be heard across the clearing: “Finally. The food’s getting cold!” Everyone chuckles, and decamps to the tables set up on the other side of the meadow. Derek clasps his hand as they walk, bringing up the rear, and Stiles stops him with a squeeze and a quick peck on the lips. One kiss wasn’t going to be nearly enough, not for today.