Written for this prompt on the teenwolf kinkme: Stiles is like cooking or baking and gets spices on him. Turns out some normal kitchen spice (cinnamon, ginger, cloves, whatever) is like catnip to werewolves. Cue Derek and/or Scott acting like cats with a pile of catnip, all over Stiles.
"Uh, Stiles?" the sheriff started, mind boggling, as he took in the image of his son in the kitchen, in the middle of what could only be described as a disaster area, "What's going on? Why are you shirtless?"
"Got covered in dough," Stiles replied from his place cross-legged on the floor in front of the oven, "I'm baking cookies. They're baking. Now. They're taking ages to brown though, is that normal? I mean, do you think I've messed them up? I don't want to poison Mrs McCall, not after her looking after you and all."
The Sheriff slapped Stiles hand away from where it was going for the oven door, earning a baleful look, and gestured to the mess.
"This needs to be cleaned up," he said in his authority voice, "Cookies only bake if you let them, so stop opening that oven, and Melissa was not looking after me." He paused a moment then squinted suspiciously. "Was she?"
"Wow yeah, I have made a mess, right?" Stiles babbled, carefully not looking at his dad, "I should absolutely clean. And, of course, bake! No point in baking without the...bake," he trailed off. The sheriff gave him another look, which Stiles ignored by studying the oven door with the kind of intensity he usually reserved for Lydia Martin, before making another cleaning comment and heading out to the station.
Stiles breathed a sigh of relief when the door snicked shut. He sucked under interrogation and hell yeah, Mrs McCall had been looking after his dad.
When Stiles had found out that Scott was 'viewing' the same college as him, and they'd be away for three day, he panicked and turned up at the McCall residence to beg Scott's mom to make sure his dad didn't subside on bacon and burgers whilst he was gone. Used to the Stilinski's, she'd smiled, patted his head, and used the spare key to leave healthy portions of homemade meals in their fridge while Stiles was enduring Scott pining and Derek brooding.
"How did I get dough on the floor?" Stiles mused aloud, bending for a closer look. His phone buzzing on the kitchen counter startled him enough that he banged his head on the underside of the table on the way back up.
"Ow ow, damnit, ow!" he moaned, rubbing his scalp with one hand and reaching for his phone with the other. A text from Scott.
Get over here.
Before Stiles could reply bemoaning the fact that he'd only just gotten rid of them both, his phone rang.
"Get over here." Derek snapped and hung up.
It was hard, being beholden to two authority figures. Half of Stiles body was still trying to comply with his dad's cleaning request whilst the rest of him was trying to scrabble for the door. To avoid falling on his ass, Stiles arm shot out to grab the table and upended the tub of ginger powder he'd bought at the store that morning. Stiles let out a little wail as his fingertips stretched in an attempt to keep it upright but only succeeded in flipping the tub more firmly into the air. Stiles watched in dismay as the ginger powder shot into the air and came down in a cloud, settling on his skin and hair, making him sneeze.
His phone rang again, even the ringtone sounding pissed off, and Stiles lizard brain, clearly marking Derek the greater threat, made him grab the nearest shirt (his dad's) and propelled him out of the door.
Both wolves were standing on Derek's porch as Stiles pulled up in his jeep. Derek's face was not-pleased.
"Uh, hey guys!" Stiles called cheerily, sliding from the cab and slamming the door behind him, "So what's new since I saw you, like, thirteen hours ago? New pack members? More hunter girlfriends? Picnics?"
Scott's face was scrunched, head tipped oddly to the side, but Stiles disregarded this in favour of the way Derek's expression morphed into an intense scowl.
"Who do you smell of?" he snapped, advancing across the yard.
"Uh, this is my dad's shirt?" Stiles stammered, eyes on the approaching Alpha, "I got dough mix on mine making chocolate ginger cookies for Scott's mom."
Derek...paused, face sort of confused, but before Stiles could get a handle on the latest Stilinski-centric wig-out, Scott barrelled into him side-on, driving him into the dirt.
"Oh my god," Stiles managed to wheeze from under Scott's body, "Scott, dude, don't eat me! You've known me since forever, like, diapers forever, we're best buddies! You'll regret it, I'm the only one who'll put up with you mooning over Allison without hitting you over the head with a blunt object. Your mom will be mad!" Stiles squeaked the last part, feeling a wet tongue on his throat, right before Scott's body went sailing through the air, leaving a red-eyed Derek standing over him.
"This is not an improvement," Stiles yelped, trying to scuttle out of reach of Derek's frankly terrifying claws, "Not even close!"
Derek's hand clamped around his ankle and, in a move he'd later realise was beyond stupid, Stiles kicked out in panic. Derek growled, and not his usual, playful I-only-might-tear-your-throat-out growl. No, this was a don't-move-or-this-will-end-with-my-face-buried-in-your-intestines growl. Stiles froze.
Claws tore his shirt free and he had a moment to despairingly think shit that was my dad's shirt and he's gonna notice it's missing and I'm gonna be prime suspect and I suck at lying to someone who is a cop and also my dad, before Derek was on him, just...licking, what the hell?
"Uh, dude?" Stiles ventured, eliciting a noise that shut him up with an audible click of his teeth. Derek continued...licking, accompanied with a sort of broken motorcycle burr in his chest, and let's be honest, Stiles was having some sort of episode AND then there was another tongue sliding roughly across his scalp.
Stiles, because he was an idiot, tipped his head back to confirm that yes, Scott, his best friend and werewolf toddler, was going to town on his head, and Derek made a noise that Stiles had to count as happy, even as it turned his spine to water, and started in on his throat. His throat. Which he had just willingly exposed to the Alpha of their ragtag pack. Not his best move ever.
Stiles, who was positive this trauma would have lasting, far-reaching effects on his life, (not sex-life, he was absolutely not thinking sex-life), mewled when Derek started to...yeah, rub on him like he was a favourite blanket that needed serious scent-marking.
Unfortunately, now that it had become clear both Stiles throat and intestines would be remaining unmauled, his brain was registering that yeah, Scott licking his head was weird, but Derek licking his throat with that happy chest-rumble and rubbing all over him was not, in fact, terrifying. Or disgusting. Or bad. Actually, it was the very very opposite of all of those things.
Oh God, "Stiles moaned, unable to help himself as Derek's tongue moved to lap at his chest, and his dick perked up happily in response, "I don't...what's...guys, this is..."
Thankfully he was spared having to find an ending for that sentence (which he feared may have contained references to nudity and...acts) as Scott moved to lick the edge of Stiles mouth, little delicate kitten licks that Stiles couldn't help but recoil from because dude, diapers!
Scott snarled, pinning Stiles shoulder down with a claw-tipped hand that instantly drew blood, and Derek reared up, snarling in response. Apparently he'd forgotten Scott after the initial throwing but he'd remembered him now, and he was pissed.
Scott, because Stiles had gotten into his jeep and pulled up at the Hale twilight zone, snarled in challenge and Stiles barely got out of the way before the two were on each other, fur literally flying.
Stiles flattened himself to the side of his jeep and wracked his brains for the best way to stop two fighting werewolves. He sprung up suddenly, yelling and flapping his arms. Both men stopped and swivelled their heads in his direction. It was...creepy.
"Right, so, I've got your attention so..." Stiles trailed off as Scott squinked his eyebrows and Derek's nose twitched, deciding his best option now was to get the hell outta Dodge. By the time Derek made a move towards him, Stiles jeep was already screaming down the Hale driveway.
There were firefighters and black smoke drifting out of his front door when he pulled up the driveway.
A hand landed on his shoulder as soon as his feet hit tarmac.
"Stiles," his dad said, low and mad.
"Yeah so, Derek and Scott?" Jackson announced, slamming Stiles into a locker with his shoulder, "said it was a mistake, something you were wearing, no need to ever speak of it again."
"Okay?" Stiles mumbled in reply, and the shoulder Jackson had been using to pin him still was removed.
"Something I wore?" Stiles murmured, ignoring Jackson watching him, "but I wasn't...oh!"
"So, what happened?" Jackson asked, eyes interested, "They wouldn't say but Derek's being more of an anti-social dick than usual and McCall stutters every time your name comes up."
"Nothing important," Stiles muttered, brain racing. He staggered away, thoughts whirling, ignoring Jackson scowling at his back.
Two days later, Stiles stood in his kitchen eyeballing the tub of ginger powder he'd picked up at the store on his way home.
"This is nothing to do with Derek," Stiles stated to the air in general, "or Derek's tongue. Or Derek's...other things." He trailed off a moment, remembering those things, before snapping back into focus. "This is because Scott's mom still hasn't gotten her cookies. I promised. Granted, not to her, but a promise is a promise regardless of who's there to hear it. Can't be broken, promises. Not lightly anyway."
Stiles stared at the ginger tub a few more moments, ignoring the fact that it was the only ingredient he'd gotten out so far (and the feeling that he was being judged by a spice because, impossible right?).
"Don't look at me like that," he admonished (okay maybe not ignoring as such), "it had to be today. My stomach really was sore! Is! I mean is! So I won't eat the cookies. It's got nothing to do with Scott and Jackson being at lacrosse practice and not at Derek's. Where Derek is. Alone."
The ginger eyed him critically.
Cutting his eyes away from the disapproving granules, Stiles picked up the tub and tipped it over his head, feeling the fine powder setting into his skin and hair for the second time in a week. Then he pulled on a shirt and grabbed his car keys.
At the door Stiles paused, glancing back at the tiny bit of ginger left in the container. He swayed a second before quickly walking to the table, unclasping his belt and tipping the remaining spice down his boxers. Then he ran out the door.
Stiles had never been the kind of boy to miss an opportunity.
Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave me your thoughts.