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Derek crouched next to the table, icing bag in one hand and tweezers in the other, putting the finishing touches on his gingerbread house. Well, "gingerbread house" was far too plain a term for it. He'd built a perfect gingerbread recreation of Winterfell, right down to a handful of tiny marzipan Starks. It had taken him most of the year to get the baking and the details right, but all in all he was pretty pleased with how it had turned out. He even had chocolate direwolves. Every detail was perfect, and more importantly, every detail was edible.
There was absolutely no way Stiles Stilinski could beat it.
This was the seventh year Derek was competing in the gingerbread house competition at the Beacon Hills Holiday Festival, and he'd taken first place for three of those years. The other three years, Stiles had won, each time with even more ridiculous rude gestures and lewd winks in Derek's direction.
Derek was bound and determined to take first place this year, and put a halt to Stiles's current winning streak.
"Ready to get your butt kicked, Hale?"
Speak of the devil.
Derek set down his tweezers and his icing bag and slowly straightened. Stiles stood in front of his table, wearing a shit-eating grin and a BHHS lacrosse hoodie that had to be ten years old at least. His brown hair was covered with a soft-looking beanie, and his amber eyes sparkled in the winter sun.
"Stiles," Derek said evenly. Despite what Laura said, he could be civil.
Stiles grinned even wider, and made a show of leaning around to look at Derek's creation. "Ooh, getting fancy this year. Winterfell, right?"
He was not going to be proud that Stiles recognized it. He wasn't.
He crossed his arms. "I'm surprised you know it. I thought superheroes were more your thing."
Stiles snorted. "Believe it or not, my media tastes are both many and diverse."
"Oh really?" Derek raised an eyebrow. "What did you build this year?"
Stiles fucking winked at him. "Well, you're just going to have to wait and see, aren't you?"
He walked off with a jaunty wave that left Derek grinding his teeth. Something about Stiles always rubbed him the wrong way, had ever since the first time they'd met four years ago, when Stiles entered the gingerbread house competition for the first time and promptly snatched away Derek's two-time champion status with his gingerbread depiction of Wayne Manor. Derek had been both angry and reluctantly impressed; there were aspects of the build that were amateur, but Stiles's skill had been clear.
Stiles won the next year as well, but the year after, Derek finally managed to wrest his crown back with a gingerbread version of Hogwarts. It had been hell to build and transport, but the look on Stiles's face had made it one hundred percent worth every late night he'd spent getting the design just right.
Now they were each three and three, and Derek was determined to pull out ahead again this year. Laura called his determination "obsessive" and suggested he sit the competition out this year, which Derek had laughed off. Cora said she wished he and Stiles would fuck already instead of using competitive gingerbread building to flirt with each other, and Derek had glared at her until she rolled her eyes and left the room.
Privately, he could admit Cora wasn't entirely wrong. Stiles was an asshole, to be sure, but he was also very much Derek's type and the combination of attraction and irritation had been slowly driving him insane for the past four years. Of course, nothing would ever come of it precisely because they'd gotten off on the wrong foot and Derek was pretty sure Stiles lived to needle him, so he would settle for taking home first prize and rubbing Stiles's face in it.
Maturely, of course.
***
After another half hour, Cora came over to watch his booth so that Derek could take some time to wander the festival.
He pulled his hat and gloves back on. "I'm going to go check out the competition."
Cora snorted into her mug of hot chocolate. "Which is code for 'I'm going to go see what Stiles made and awkwardly flirt with him.'"
Derek made a face at her. "It's code for 'I'm going to go check out the competition.'"
"Please, we all know Stiles is the only competitor you give a shit about." Cora waved him off. "Go, and don't forget to grab some lunch. Can't have you passing out during judging."
Derek kissed her on the temple before he ventured off into the festival. Cora made gagging noises at him as he left.
The Beacon Hills Holiday Festival took over the Civic Center and the city park for five days every December, sprawling both indoors and out. In addition to the gingerbread house competition, there was a Santa look-alike competition and a bachelor auction to raise money for the local food bank. An ice skating rink took up about half the park, with most of the rest set aside for a stage featuring holiday skits and musical acts.
Dozens of food trucks and booths crowded the streets and any available park space left, filling the air with the scents of coffee, apple cider, hot chocolate, cinnamon, and sugar.
Inside the Civic Center, artists and crafters packed aisles and aisles of booths. Derek's parents had a booth selling canned jams, butters, and salsas they'd made from their garden that summer, and Laura had a booth with the artists, where she sold her jewelry and metalwork.
He'd come back later, after the gingerbread house competition had been judged, to browse the other booths more thoroughly, but for now, Derek headed straight for the other gingerbread tables.
He did stop at the Delgado's food truck long enough to pick up some tamales, though.
The number of entries into the gingerbread house competition had nearly doubled this year, which was surprising. And no matter what Cora said, Derek was eager to see what other people were doing. Not just Stiles.
Many of the gingerbread houses were fairly simple, and he could pick out a couple that had likely come from a kit. But just as many were gorgeous and innovative, including one beautifully detailed Victorian house that had Derek pausing to admire it.
But, Derek thought with a little burst of pride, none of them were quite as creative or original as his Winterfell.
He finally meandered his way over to Stiles's table, where Stiles was kicked back with a steaming mug behind an amazing gingerbread recreation of the Millennium Falcon.
Derek did his best to keep his face from giving away how impressed he was. "So, Star Wars this year, huh?"
Stiles grinned. "Well, since I beat your ass with a Death Star last year, I figured I'd keep with the theme."
Derek rolled his eyes and leaned over to get a better look at Stiles's entry.
"Don't sneeze on it," Stiles said. "Or poke it. Or drop tamale on it. Or—"
"I don't need to cheat to beat you," Derek said.
Stiles snorted into his mug and balanced his chair on its two back legs. "We'll see."
Derek ignored him and continued his study of the Falcon. It was beautifully done, and he could tell Stiles had mellowed out since he'd started doing the gingerbread house competition years ago. Before, he'd had a tendency to go overboard with the candy details. But now, his work was sleek and very well-done.
Derek straightened and grinned at Stiles. "It looks good enough to eat."
Stiles choked on his drink and slammed his chair back onto all fours.
Ha. Derek waited until the coughing fit had passed, and then raised his eyebrow. "You okay there?"
"Fine," Stiles said. He sounded a bit strangled. "Totally fine."
Derek took another bite of his tamales, which were starting to get cold. "In that case, I'd better get back to my table. Judging starts soon, and I think Cora will want a break."
Stiles saluted him. "I look forward to beating you yet again."
Derek snorted. "In your dreams."
***
At 4:30, Derek headed over to the main stage, where most of the other competitors had already gathered. It didn't take him long to spot Stiles, who had removed his knitted beanie and had his dark hair sticking up every which way.
Derek wished he didn't find that quite as attractive as he did.
He sat down next to Cora, who patted his shoulder. "You ready?"
Derek slung his arm around her and squeezed her. "Always. Thanks for watching the booth for me."
She poked him in the side. "Of course. You owe me another hot chocolate, though."
Natalie Martin stepped up onto the stage and waved at them all. "Hey, everybody, and welcome to the results of the tenth annual Beacon Hills Holiday Festival gingerbread house competition! We had a lot of fantastic entries this year, and the judges had a great deal of difficulty picking the top spot. But after half an hour of deliberation, here we are. The winner of this year's competition, with a prize of a fifty dollar gift certificate to Mabel's on Main and bragging rights for the next year, is," she opened an envelope and slid out a piece of paper, "Allison Argent!"
Derek blinked in surprise. "Wait, Allison?"
Allison, the perky brunette dating Scott Delgado of the Delgado's food truck, practically bounced up to the stage, a shy smile on her face.
Natalie handed her the gift card and the first prize ribbon. "Allison's Victorian gingerbread house really wowed the judges, and if you haven't had a chance to see it, I would encourage you to do so before it gets devoured. Thank you, Allison, and thank you contestants! We look forward to seeing what you build for us next year!"
Derek sat, staring vacantly, as Allison jogged down from the stage and launched herself into Scott's arms. "Allison?" he repeated. "Allison won?"
Cora poked his cheek. "Hey, Der, you okay?"
Derek grabbed her finger and scowled. "I'm fine."
Cora didn't look convinced. "Because you look a little thrown, brother dear. Should I get you a blanket? Perhaps a stiff drink?"
Derek rolled his eyes and looked around for Stiles, to see what his reaction was. "It's been six years since someone else won. I'm just surprised, is all."
"Uh-huh." Cora waved her hand toward the food booths. "I think I saw your boy heading toward the cider tent to drown his sorrows."
Derek scowled at her more. "He's not my boy."
Cora patted his arm. "Derek, the fact that you knew exactly who I was talking about says otherwise."
"You're terrible and Laura's my favorite sister now," he declared.
Cora stuck out her tongue. "Keep talking like that, and I'll take back your Christmas present."
"You wouldn't dare."
Cora shoved at him. "Go commiserate with Stiles about losing. I'll keep an eye on your table. I know you hate watching the masses devour your hard work."
Derek winced at the thought, and dropped a kiss on Cora's head. "I lied, you're my favorite again."
"I hope my present reflects that!" Cora called after him.
***
Sure enough, Derek found Stiles in the cider tent, sitting at the end of an empty picnic table and nursing a cup of something hot. It was strange; this was the first time since they'd met that he wasn't lording a win over Stiles or vice versa.
Derek picked up a hot cider for himself and, on an impulse, two sugar cookies, and went over to join Stiles on the bench. "Here." He pushed one of the sugar cookies over. "It looks like you need a pick-me-up."
Stiles's eyes lit up and he grabbed the cookie. "Not usually my choice when I'm drowning my sorrows, but sugar's probably better for my liver than alcohol, right?"
"Also easier to get, at the moment," Derek pointed out.
Stiles reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a flask. "Oh, ye of little faith. Want to add a kick to your drink?"
Derek tried his best to look disapproving. "I'm not sure I want to add whatever concoction you've got in that to anything I'm drinking."
Stiles rolled his eyes and tipped the flask into his own cup. "It's just vodka. I know better than to actually get drunk out here. The deputies have a betting pool on who will be the first to bring me in on charges and I know for a fact my dad's got next weekend picked."
"What's next weekend?" Derek asked.
Stiles raised his cup in a salute. "Scott's bachelor party."
Derek raised his cup in solidarity. "Congratulations to Scott."
Stiles leaned across the table and tapped his foam cup to the side of Derek's, and then took a drink. "Do you realize this is the most civil conversation we've had in four years?"
It probably was, which Derek found surprising. "You should've won, you know. That Millennium Falcon was excellent."
Stiles spluttered. "Me? What about you? Dude, you built fucking Winterfell! And not just the one keep, like, you built most of the freaking city. I mean...how?"
Derek ducked his head at the unexpected praise. "I had to get Laura and Cora to help out with some of it. It was almost too much for one person."
Stiles took a giant bite out of his sugar cookie. "Bit off more than you could chew, did you?"
Derek shrugged. "What can I say? I like a challenge. And I really wanted to beat you."
Stiles threw back his head and laughed. "Well, I can't disagree with that. At least eighty percent of my motivation in this competition is beating the pants off you."
Derek raised his eyebrows at the word choice, and Stiles seemed to realize what he'd said at about the same time. He choked on his cookie. "I mean, metaphorically! Not literally. Unless, you know..." Stiles dropped his gaze, suddenly very obsessed with the sugar cookie he was methodically demolishing. "You might, uh, be into that?"
Derek felt his cheeks heat, which he decided to credit to the cider tent being overly warm. He took another drink of his cider. "Not until the third date, at least."
Stiles jerked his head up, amber eyes alight with hope. "So...do you think this counts as a date?"
Derek looked down at the cider and the mostly eaten sugar cookies, at Stiles's long fingers nervously tapping the side of his cup. "Yeah, I think this counts as one." He took a deep breath. "And if you let me buy you tamales from Delgado's for dinner, I think that would be two."
Stiles grinned. "And if you let me buy you dinner tomorrow night at Mabel's, that would be three?"
Derek nodded, very slowly. His body was buzzing and it felt a little like he was about to float out of his seat. "I think that would count as three, yes."
"Excellent." Stiles leaned forward and winked. "So, hot stuff, you free for dinner tomorrow night? Say, seven at Mabel's?"
"Hot stuff?" Derek repeated. "Who are you, Danny Zuko?"
Stiles huffed. "Look, man, if you aren't into ridiculous pet names and bad pickup lines, then I'm afraid this relationship is going to go precisely nowhere because that's about all I got."
Derek looked Stiles up and down openly, the same way he'd been doing furtively for years. It was freeing to be able to do it like this, with Stiles watching. "Oh, trust me, you've got a lot more than that."
Stiles's pale cheeks went splotchy, and he gaped like a fish.
Derek fished a pen out of his pocket, took Stiles's cup, and wrote his number on the side of it. "To answer your question, I'd love to have dinner with you at Mabel's. That's my number, pick me up at seven." He stood, and then tapped one finger under Stiles's chin to close his mouth. "And if your brain comes back online in the next two minutes, I can buy you those tamales."
"Oh my God." Stiles scrambled to his feet, grabbing his cup and cookie. "Yes, totally, so much yes."
Derek walked out of the cider tent with Stiles by his side. It was late enough that the Christmas lights were on, strands of white lights crisscrossing overhead and along the booths and tents. The smell of popcorn and cider filled the air, and Derek could hear Christmas carols coming from somewhere near the main stage.
He held out his arm and nodded toward the food trucks. "Shall we?"
Stiles popped the last of his cookie into his mouth and took Derek's elbow. "Why, yes, Mr. Hale. I believe we shall."
Derek still wasn't happy about losing the gingerbread house competition, but walking arm-in-arm with Stiles through the festival, well.
It was the best prize he could ask for.