Nonetheless, November 1 is the púca's day, and the one day of the year when it can be expected to behave civilly.
[ In what could more or less be called Stiles' birthday, it's November first, the puka's day, and he's found himself making his way past the village where he's been wreaking havoc for nearly a year now and towards a small house on the very outskirts of the village, to the person--the faoladh--that stopped it. It's the early hours of the morning, even before he knows the grumpy wolf spirit is awake, and Stiles slips in the window as a bird near soundlessly, shifting forms in mere seconds and floats on human feet across to the small kitchen.
On the puka's day, he's supposed to behave. The one day of the year that he's not really allowed to go and destroy things, and as contrary as it might seem, Stiles likes to create just as much as he destroys. And that's why soft sounds start to fill the house--water boiling, the sound of a knife hitting a cutting board.
For a minute, he ponders going up and crawling into his bed, instead, but the idea of sneaking up on the faoladh, while hilarious, probably goes against the whole havoc thing, so Stiles just focuses on the rhythmic cutting of vegetables for what looks like omelettes. Surprising him is definitely fair game.
Besides, it's Stiles' day too, damn it. He's allowed to enjoy it. ]
[ Contrary to popular belief, Derek sleeps. It isn't a lot, but it's enough to keep him functioning. Ever since Stiles found his share in him, though, he's been managing to catch a little bit more of it since he isn't getting woken up at all hours to investigate what the hell's causing people to holler and shout. Trouble still passes through, whether it's caused by a puka or not, but it's a relief to know that Stiles got what he wanted and was simply just... ornery.
Not that he was malevolent before, though the destructive tendencies did get annoying damn quick.
There's no one alive to remember that his own birthday, the actual deal rather than anything like the puka's day, is fast approaching. But he doesn't mind, hasn't for years. He's just simply accepted it as a way of life now. It's quiet, and maybe lonely more often than not, but it's his life.
Which is why he comes from his nest of blankets and furs with a distinct case of bedhead, confused but alert as he stirs. Finding a puka in his kitchen isn't exactly a bad thing, but needless to say he hasn't had this in quite some time, either. Rather than comment, he just comes up behind him on silent feet, chuffing faintly before tucking his face against the back of his shoulder. ]
[ It's when he's starting to crack eggs into a pan that there's suddenly a faoladh behind him--the kind of thing that would have sent him scurrying a year or so ago, even if it was with a trail of destruction behind him. Now, he jumps a little but rolls his head to look at Derek over his shoulder, commenting dryly: ] Not much of a morning person, huh.
[ He's probably never seen him look so vulnerable. It makes something a little gooey in his chest, and Sties reaches back and pats his arm with his free hand, starting to pour vegetables in the pan. It's a little strange, to have a sidhe in your kitchen making breakfast, but cooking is one of those unique puka talents that Stiles doesn't often share with anyone. He enjoys it, and if he tips back a little towards the body that's suddenly shadowing his, well, no one has to know that.
It's peaceful, in the early morning. The kind of thing he'd normally be itching to wreck. ]
Sometimes. [ His voice comes out in a sleepy rumble, and Derek nuzzles his nose into the curve of Stiles' shoulder, following it until he can rest his cheek against it. It's a random lottery on whether the faoladh will be wide awake within five seconds or if it'll take him a couple minutes to really wake up, and it's largely influenced by whether he actually slept the night before or if it was a restless doze.
Snuffling softly, he cracks an eye open to peer down at what the puka is doing, bringing his hands up so he can wrap his arms around his middle. Looking at his kitchen, as modest as the house itself is, sort of gives away that Stiles isn't the only spirit that knows his way around. Not as if he actually uses it as much as he likes, considering he doesn't like cooking for himself, but there'll be days where he brings the people in his village dinners.
A wolf provides for their pack. ]
What're you doing. [ That isn't in regards to Stiles cooking-- he's half awake, not blind-- but more at why he's doing it. He doesn't even bother questioning how he got inside. ]
Cooking. [ What a smartass. Just because it's his day doesn't mean he has to be forthcoming with answers or anything. But Stiles does lean backwards into his arms once they find their way around his middle, and gets comfortable. This is nice--he's seeing a side of his "share" that he hasn't really seen before, and it's just another facet of Derek's to add to Stiles' endlessly long list of why he's the most fascinating thing in the entire world.
He laughs a little at his own joke, brown eyes twinkling, but shrugs his shoulders and adds the fillings to the omelette, listening to the pleasant sizzle of the pan and shifting it just a little with his spatula. ] Can't we just enjoy things without questioning them?
[ Which is an especially dumb question, because Stiles doesn't do that. Ever. ]
No shit. [ Chuffing amusement, chest and shoulders twitching with it, Derek just stands there and takes Stiles' weight as he leans into him. For as sleepy as he is, he's as solid as he normally is, keeping the sidhe secure in his hold as they stand there. For those that don't typically see a softer side to the wolf, they'd find his behavior right now rather strange.
They just don't make the connection between their faoladh and a true wolf, tactile and affectionate with their pack.
Head moving a little with the shrug of Stiles' shoulders, he grunts to cover up a laugh-- barely succeeding-- and lightly scrapes his beard against a patch of bare skin. Not aiming to leave a mark, but just enough to present a distraction in retribution. ] Like you do.
[ Returning his attention back to the omelette, Stiles flips it over with little difficulty and hums at the shape, reaching a little out of his arms to find a plate. It's comfortable and easy and kind of nice, and Stiles takes great pleasure in taking out his share, sure, but it's never quiet like this.
That's ruined pretty quickly when he scratches him with his beard, and Stiles yelps and thwaps him lightly on the head with the spatula, squirming-- ] Dude, uncalled for! [ --even if it was a little called for. Just a little.
Rolling his eyes to the ceiling, Stiles gives a dramatic, huffy sigh. ] If you must know, today isss. The puka's day. [ You can almost hear his dramatic jazz hands. ] AKA, I'm supposed to be nice. All day long.
[ Hardly bothered by the spatula smacking at him, Derek just straightens back to full height instead of slumping forward and around the shape of Stiles' back. It lets him draw his arms back more easily, as he cranes his head back, rolls it a little, to crack his neck with quiet laughter causing his shoulders to shake a little again.
It was a little called for. And if it was somewhere else we doubt you'd be complaining, sidhe.
Once he comes back around, kinks worked out (at least a little) from his neck, he buries his nose in Stiles' hair at the back of his head. ] All day long, huh.
All freakin' day. [ He sounds a little amused, though, not angry, and Stiles just makes a put-upon noise, sliding the omelette onto a plate and starting on a second one, but a little slower this time. He's kind of enjoying the position, the way it feels to have Derek so close to him. ] Congrats, you learned my dirty little secret.
[ Considering he actually sought Derek out, it probably wasn't that much of a chore. The fact was that their relationship was a bit of a push and pull (if a bit is an extreme understatement), and maybe a part of him had quietly figured he'd take his day and use it to show the faoladh he had another side, too.
Even if he attacks him with his stubble for no reason. Shh.
Lucky me. [ Letting Stiles move around freely, arms loose around him now, Derek shifts to nuzzle against his hair while reaching one hand out. Moving easily, he takes a bowl from the counter and turns it over the finished omelet's plate, trapping the heat of it. He's not about to take it while Stiles is still working with the skillet, and he's far too comfortable to move away from him.
This is the best way to wake up in the morning, bar none. Every day should be puka day, or at least start like it is. He'd miss the heavy banter, the hard push and pull between them, but having this every now and then? Well, it'd be nice.
Not that he doubted there was a softer side to his puka, but. ] It's like my birthday came a couple days early.
Your birthday? [ Stiles blinks and looks back at Derek for a moment, like he hadn't really thought of that. Because he hadn't, really. The faoladh had to be as old as he was, and they just...didn't have birthdays. Stiles barely remembers his--it's sometime in the spring, maybe, and sort of adopted the puka's day as it instead.
But he grins a little and leans into his chest, shifting the pan over the burner a little. ] I would've put a bow on my head if I knew you needed a present. Enjoy it while it lasts, Wolfman.
It's been a long time since I've thought about it, but yes. [ Faoladh have long-standing memories as is-- they have to remember all the loyalties that they have, every promise that they've made-- but take one with such heavy guilt as Derek does and there is very little that he will ever forget. The only thing is that he hasn't celebrated his birthday in years (and years and years and years) so the realization that the puka's day is shortly before his own, personal day is rather striking.
Bowing forward further, he rubs his cheek against his hair, idle nuzzling. ]
You're behaving and I'm not going to have to chase you around all day. I think that's present enough.
[ Letting his mouth shut again, Stiles lets Derek lean forward and use him as a chinrest again, starting to work on the second omelette slowly but surely. There's a softness to his gaze, though, and something warm in his chest at the thought. It was unintentional, but a good birthday present none the less.
He does roll his eyes, though. ] You make it sound like chasing me is a nuisance. I make that shit awesome. Your life would be boring without me in it, don't even joke. [ And tilts his head backwards a little, nosing at his cheek. ]
[ Closing his eyes over again and simply resting against Stiles from cheek to chest, arms wound around the puka, Derek lets out a faint rumble that pushes on contentedness. It's soft and quiet, but there, pressed to Stiles' back without concern of him feeling it. Because the moment is peaceful, comfortable. New and strange as it should be, it feels like puzzle pieces settling into place.
He cracks an eye open when he moves, though. ] You are a nuisance. [ But he turns into the nosing, enough to catch their noses together in a bump afterwards. ] You're my nuisance, though.
And you're my pain in the ass predator. [ My share, he pretty gleefully reminds himself. He stopped caring about the crops months and months ago, adn the villagers seemed thrilled for it. He liked them well enough, and he'd never be cruel enough to let one of them die, so he does his own methods of protecting--changing into a big black dog and herding wandering kids away from dangerous areas of the town, or attacking predators trying to steal sheep.
This place has grown on him since he first arrived, and Derek really kind of helped that.
He can just feel him rumbling against his back, and rolls his eyes goodnaturedly, pushing at the egg with his spatula as he gives into the nosebump to press his lips to the spot just above the stubble on his cheeks. ] Somebody woke up on the right side of the bed.
[ An amused noise leaves him at that, especially considering the fact that Derek hasn't really qualified as a predator to Stiles in ages. It didn't take long for him to start considering the puka one of his to protect, but for an entirely different reason than the village and people in it. They tell stories about the faoladh, why you should never threaten anyone that it takes reason to protect. But they always leave out one aspect, one that only the faoladh and those that they protect for that single reason know.
Both eyes open to look at him as he feels the kiss high on his cheek, clear and green-gold-brown. And after everything, he feels like he knows what Stiles falls under.
Tipping forward, he kisses the corner of his mouth, letting out another rumble. ] No one's screaming, the crops are good this year, no one's come to yell about livestock or children in wells, and you're in my kitchen.
[ A mischievious grin spreads across his face, and Stiles can't help but laugh, even when Derek kisses at his mouth. ] The cow in the well was one of my favorite pranks ever. You guys were so baffled.
[ Sometimes he missed it. Sometimes he'd pull little ones on Derek--nothing huge, because he loved Derek like the moon loved the sun, but that was part of how he showed his attention. Things like hiding all of his clothes and hiding meat in weird places in the house for him to chase down in the morning as a wolf when he was still sleep bleary, or stealing his shaving stuff (and replacing it with nicer ones.)
So maybe they usually ended in presents, but. It's how a puka shows their love.
Carefully flipping the omelette, he lets it hit the pan again with a satisfying sizzle noise and leans a little further back into him, enjoying the sensation of the rumble against his back. ] I could totally go back to that tomorrow, if you wanted.
"Faoladh Hale," Elder Evans had said when I opened my door. [ Derek murmurs against the curve of his jaw as Stiles goes back to what he's doing. lazily drawling in imitation. ] "I've got no idea what's going on, but there seems to be mooing coming from the well every time someone lowers the bucket."
Turns out people were thunking the bucket into the cow's head. [ It had been a chore, getting the cow back out. But he'd managed, and he'd chased Stiles clear across the fields in retribution before he pounced him and sent them both down a hill.
He's thankful, that Stiles has gotten his share. It's less frustrating for him, when he has legitimate threats to deal with and not a trickster playing pranks in retribution. But the occasional prank doesn't hurt, and there's a sort of affection even in the rest of the village for the little things. Their faoladh certainly enjoys the errant gift-trick, that's for sure.
A small kiss, more the drag of his lips against his skin as he speaks, gets pressed to the hinge of his jaw as he leans back into him. His arms wind around him a little tighter, and he chuckles against Stiles' back. ] No, I think I'll keep this. [ That, there, is an actual kiss to soft skin. ] Keep you here.
[ Stiles' grin doubles in size as he starts telling the story, and the púca sways a little where he's being held in the cradle of his arms. He remembers the chase that came afterwards, remembers Derek snarling in his face like he was going to kill him until he turned into a skunk and sprayed him in the face. That was back before they started to get along, but Stiles was already starting to love the chase--sometimes he shifted into a wolf, just to let Derek have some interaction with someone who was almost his own kind.
It was fun, in its own weird little way. Eventually, he grew to enjoy the faoladh's company, as animal or creature or human both, and Stiles is now more or less content to spend his time harassing him, because his share is right here in this kitchen, snuffling sleepily at his back.
The kiss sparks something in his chest and he turns the heat off of the stove as the omelette finishes--he turns around and props his arms on Derek's shoulders. ] I'm supposed to be nice all day, you know. So--your wish is my command, or something like that.
[ Being sprayed by a skunk had just topped off the horrible day for him overall- you try hauling a cow out of a well, see how your day goes-- but looking back on it, it's not the worst day that Derek's ever had. For as much as he'd wanted to rip Stiles' throat out, and had many days like that, he's settled into this with him. He's found himself having some pretty good days, where it feels like maybe he has a piece of pack back again after years and years and years without. And now, he has this day to remember, to look forward to every year.
He sways a little with him, content and warm, savoring their proximity. It doesn't matter if they're man or beast, he's happy. Stiles has his share, but Derek's found something rather like it, here.
His hold loosens a little to let Stiles turn, and he watches him with keen interest and a relaxed expression. ] Do what makes you happy.
[ That wasn't the answer Stiles was expecting--his open mouth snaps shut and he pauses, giving him an odd little smile as he regards the faoladh currently holding him. Stiles had never really liked to be held; he was a púca, constantly running and leaping and tricking. But Derek changed that, made him find a place that he could sort of consider his home.
There are many, many years ahead of them--immortality is funny like that.
The odd smile quirks up a little as he looks down at Derek's chest, patting his hands there once. ] What makes me happy. What if that's just tormenting you all the time?
[ It used to be. He looks up at him from under his eyelashes for a second, then slides both hands up to his cheeks to pull him in for a kiss, soft and slow. ]
[ There's something so satisfying about catching Stiles of all people off guard. But instead of really being smug, Derek just regards the púca as he seems to really process what he's said. And a faoladh means their word-- though he could ask for something for himself, he has all that he needs here. All that he can have. Stiles in the quiet of the morning, food fresh in the air, the village around them quiet. His arms shift a little, staying loose because he trusts the trickster not to go tearing from him.
It's a new thing. They've got time to develop it properly.
Eyes dropping from Stiles' face as he's patted at, he chuffs something soft before he meets his gaze again. ] I'd be worried if you outright stopped.
[ He knows better. It's why he lets himself be drawn forward, meeting him in the kiss and sliding his hands so that one rests in the small of his back, the other between his shoulders. ]
[ Yeah...yeah. This makes him happy. This makes something unawakened stir up in his stomach, makes his toes want to curl against the wooden floor. Stiles smiles just a little into the kiss, even if it's at the comeback, and his long arms shift to wrap properly around him instead, letting that weird, happy-warm feeling pretty much consume him whole.
Playing tricks would make him happy. It always does, because he likes to see when his plans go off without a hitch, likes to drive Derek crazy. But it's not the same as the quiet in the morning, the smell of the omelettes behind him.
He speaks against his mouth, though, lowly, one side of his lips lifted in a facsimile of a smile. ] That's it? What makes me happy. All day long.
[ For as tense as he often is, the weight of Stiles' arms draped over his shoulders causes them to relax further, and Derek quietly relishes in the contact between them. It's perfect, something he never expected he'd have again, had resigned himself to not wanting until a certain sidhe barged into his life again. It warms him to his core, and he's more than happy to share it with Stiles.
Even at the risk of being pranked later on, if that in fact makes Stiles happy. It might be a day where he's expected to behave, but the faoladh knows that he basically just gave him the go ahead to be ornery.
But nothing happens, save for the press of words against his lips. ] That's what I want: whatever makes you happy.
I hope you didn't have any other plans for today. [ That warmth spreads up to his chest and flushes his cheeks, and Stiles lifts up on his toes once, then back down, like he has to physically restrain the urge to float up an inch or so off the ground. (He does.)
Instead, his grin grows a little more and he gives his shoulders a squeeze, kissing him again, once, twice. ] Because this is a good start.
Considering you're here and not running amok elsewhere? [ There's something so ridiculously endearing about Stiles' bounce, the flush to his cheeks, and Derek's expression curls into both amusement and affection at him.
He presses it to Stiles' lips in the kiss, drawing the hand between his shoulders up to palm at the base of his skull while he chases the quick kisses. ] I do have to point out we should probably eat the food you went to all that trouble to make.
Oh, yeah. [ the sidhe pauses for a second and peers over derek's shoulders, now actually floating off that inch or so off of the ground in order to see. he mostly just uses derek's huge form as a jungle gym though, finding his arm to use as a support as he looks at the plates. right. those are done. ]
I guess. [ reluctantly untangling himself from the circle of his arms, stiles squirms out of them and picks up a plate, offering it to derek and grinning at him, nothing but joy in those big brown eyes. best puka's day ever. ] Don't look at it like that, it's not going to bite you. Not this time.
You guess. [ Hardly bothered by having Stiles literally pressed into his personal space, using him as a jungle gym-- not the first time he has-- Derek simply slides his hands along his back, comfortable with the proximity. Once upon a time, maybe, but certainly not now.
Unfolding his arms as he squirms, he lets Stiles retrieve the plates, eyeballing the one that he's offered before he actually takes it from him. It's really the look on his face and the brightness of his eyes that has him taking it, not the reassurance. ] Not this time.
Didn't realize faoladh could become parrots. I thought that was my job. [ His teasing isn't really mean spirited, despite the smirk on his face, and the puka floats backwards, drifting a little aimlessly as he holds out his other arm, gesturing at Derek's little house. ]
Where to? [ Seriously, it's the puka's day. Derek gets whatever he wants. He could play one hell of a trick on him if he really wanted to, but Stiles trusts Derek to the point that he probably won't totally torment him. One year, someone tried to stick him in a cage when they found out.
It was unpleasant, to say the least--but that's not a problem with the faoladh. Instead, Stiles just hovers beside him, lazily floating through the air and letting Derek direct him around. ]
Your job is to be an obnoxious pest. [ Still, he reaches as Stiles starts floating around, balancing the plate on one hand while the other curls loosely around the sidhe's wrist. For as much as he knows Stiles could be up to something, he still trusts him-- after all this time, it was hard-earned despite being so unexpected. He's not letting go of it, or him.
He does, in fact, direct him, guiding him along like he's suddenly in possession of a kite. Again, it's not for the first time, yet it'll never not be amusing. ]
364 days of the year. [ He doesn't even mind being tethered so much--in fact, Stiles drifts a little closer to him, floating a little closer to the ground, even, and allowing Derek to guide him wherever he wants to go. The way he loves Derek is basically kind of staggering, actually, because for a creature that is supposed to be immortal, he's never quite had the chance to feel anything so human before.
He hasn't voiced that to him, not yet, but it will come in time.
(Especially if he asks, today. Stiles has been looking for a good excuse.)
Cocking his head so the feathers in his hair shift, he looks down at him. ] Well?
You could stand to take a few more vacation days, I think. [ His thumb rubs a little into the thin skin of Stiles' wrist, and he feels the warmth of his blood beneath it, thrumming and alive. Every now and then, he's taken the form of a black hare, golden eyes bright and alert and his heartbeat actually fit for his body.
He could recognize it anywhere, and here? Here, it feels almost fleeting in comparison to their very long lives. They're not going to grow old, not the way that mortals do-- hell, they already are old-- and he might...
Well, he would like to continue to grow old with his trickster. ]
Here. [ The faoladh draws him to where his bed is set up, practically a nest of furs and quilts, and steps up onto it so he can take a seat amongst it. ]
Ohhhh--[ The puka gasps, mock shocked, and brings his plate to his chest since he doesn't have a free hand. The tone of voice he uses is saccharine sweet, like Derek just gave him the vapors. ] The nest. I never thought in all my years I'd ever get to be invited to the nest.
[ Grinning at his own (not really funny) joke, Stiles sets down his plate next to the furs and floats downwards again, cross legged, settling between Derek's legs instead of beside him. Then, he brings the plate to follow, hovering an inch or two off of his knees, and goes to chow down. ]
[ Rolling his eyes at Stiles' dramatics, Derek simply gets comfortable, nudging his elbows against the bedding in lieu of patting and bunching and adjusting everything as he normally would. (It is, hilariously, reminiscent of a dog circling on their bed and nosing at it to make sure it's comfortable.) ]
Eat your food, Stiles. [ There's no complaints when Stiles takes a seat between his legs. Rather, he just shifts a bit so that he can pillow his legs with his own, bent slightly while he sets the plate down in Stiles' lap. If he's going to inhabit his space, he's going to be put to use. ]
[ stiles does at least have the courtesy to wait for derek to get comfortable, and even resists cracking a joke about the set up of his bedroom. derek is a wolf, and it's hard to forget that, but stiles definitely prefers silly reminders like this than sharp teeth and rending flesh.
not that derek's planned on rending his flesh for a long time, but still. it adds an element of thrill to their games.
at the moment, maybe the domestic is more suiting, considering. the puka leans backwards into his arms and forks his pancakes, taking a bite and chewing contentedly. deeming it apparently satisfying, he stabs another piece off of derek's plate and offers it to him. ] See, look, poison tested.
[ There's an amused sort of gratitude that Stiles at least lets him get comfortable, even if it's not the entire rigamarole that he usually goes through to do it. He sleeps in an actual nest, tucked away amongst furs. (But the furs remind him of when he used to sleep with his pack, bunched amongst breathing, warm bodies covered in fur.) It's a softer thing, one that he's happy to share with Stiles, as compared to bared teeth.
Though the bared teeth aren't particularly foreign, considering their games. Especially before they became games to Derek.
Rolling his eyes at the comment, he still curls one arm around the puka's middle and opens his mouth as the food is offered to him. Not that he thinks Stiles would poison anyone, that's a little too malevolent for him. He's just... chaotic, that's all. ]
Well? [ the puca grins at him as he feeds him a bite of the omelettes--stiles has always been a pretty good cook, one of those neat tricks you learn from being a puca. you have to feed yourself eventually, and more often than not, when stiles found a village he really liked, he'd end up helping the people in it.
(so long as they paid their share, of course.)
he'd done the same here, gently turning away wandering children from the lakeside and keeping crops healthy and bountiful--the pieces of his share he'd gathered grew smaller and smaller each year, until nowadays, he was just a rumor around town. and that was because, truly, the young puca had found his share, sitting right here with him, eating his food. derek was all he really needed in life, and it was kind of nice.
once he's sure he's satisfied, stiles leans backwards comfortably against his chest and grabs his own plate from midair, starting to down the eggs.]
[ Unlike Stiles, the faoladh chews in silence with his mouth closed for a long moment. But when he finishes, he tilts his head over into his, just the briefest bunt that becomes a small nuzzle as he swallows. Another moment of silence, and then he gives him a nod. ] Definitely not poisoned.
[ It's obviously teasing, and Derek adjusts his arms to let him get comfortable against him, reaching around him so that he can access his own food. The arrangement is a good one, one that he wouldn't really change for anything these days. The village is prospering, with both a faoladh and a puca to watch over it, and the chaos of his pranks and meaner tricks have since died down.
Derek's not stupid, he knows that he's become the puca's share. But he doesn't mind it, if it makes Stiles happy, because it makes him happy. Not something he ever expected to have, but all the same. He has it. ]
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[ In what could more or less be called Stiles' birthday, it's November first, the puka's day, and he's found himself making his way past the village where he's been wreaking havoc for nearly a year now and towards a small house on the very outskirts of the village, to the person--the faoladh--that stopped it. It's the early hours of the morning, even before he knows the grumpy wolf spirit is awake, and Stiles slips in the window as a bird near soundlessly, shifting forms in mere seconds and floats on human feet across to the small kitchen.
On the puka's day, he's supposed to behave. The one day of the year that he's not really allowed to go and destroy things, and as contrary as it might seem, Stiles likes to create just as much as he destroys. And that's why soft sounds start to fill the house--water boiling, the sound of a knife hitting a cutting board.
For a minute, he ponders going up and crawling into his bed, instead, but the idea of sneaking up on the faoladh, while hilarious, probably goes against the whole havoc thing, so Stiles just focuses on the rhythmic cutting of vegetables for what looks like omelettes. Surprising him is definitely fair game.
Besides, it's Stiles' day too, damn it. He's allowed to enjoy it. ]
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Not that he was malevolent before, though the destructive tendencies did get annoying damn quick.
There's no one alive to remember that his own birthday, the actual deal rather than anything like the puka's day, is fast approaching. But he doesn't mind, hasn't for years. He's just simply accepted it as a way of life now. It's quiet, and maybe lonely more often than not, but it's his life.
Which is why he comes from his nest of blankets and furs with a distinct case of bedhead, confused but alert as he stirs. Finding a puka in his kitchen isn't exactly a bad thing, but needless to say he hasn't had this in quite some time, either. Rather than comment, he just comes up behind him on silent feet, chuffing faintly before tucking his face against the back of his shoulder. ]
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[ He's probably never seen him look so vulnerable. It makes something a little gooey in his chest, and Sties reaches back and pats his arm with his free hand, starting to pour vegetables in the pan. It's a little strange, to have a sidhe in your kitchen making breakfast, but cooking is one of those unique puka talents that Stiles doesn't often share with anyone. He enjoys it, and if he tips back a little towards the body that's suddenly shadowing his, well, no one has to know that.
It's peaceful, in the early morning. The kind of thing he'd normally be itching to wreck. ]
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Snuffling softly, he cracks an eye open to peer down at what the puka is doing, bringing his hands up so he can wrap his arms around his middle. Looking at his kitchen, as modest as the house itself is, sort of gives away that Stiles isn't the only spirit that knows his way around. Not as if he actually uses it as much as he likes, considering he doesn't like cooking for himself, but there'll be days where he brings the people in his village dinners.
A wolf provides for their pack. ]
What're you doing. [ That isn't in regards to Stiles cooking-- he's half awake, not blind-- but more at why he's doing it. He doesn't even bother questioning how he got inside. ]
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He laughs a little at his own joke, brown eyes twinkling, but shrugs his shoulders and adds the fillings to the omelette, listening to the pleasant sizzle of the pan and shifting it just a little with his spatula. ] Can't we just enjoy things without questioning them?
[ Which is an especially dumb question, because Stiles doesn't do that. Ever. ]
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They just don't make the connection between their faoladh and a true wolf, tactile and affectionate with their pack.
Head moving a little with the shrug of Stiles' shoulders, he grunts to cover up a laugh-- barely succeeding-- and lightly scrapes his beard against a patch of bare skin. Not aiming to leave a mark, but just enough to present a distraction in retribution. ] Like you do.
[ Yeah calling you on that. ]
cooes at all the sleepy derek icons
That's ruined pretty quickly when he scratches him with his beard, and Stiles yelps and thwaps him lightly on the head with the spatula, squirming-- ] Dude, uncalled for! [ --even if it was a little called for. Just a little.
Rolling his eyes to the ceiling, Stiles gives a dramatic, huffy sigh. ] If you must know, today isss. The puka's day. [ You can almost hear his dramatic jazz hands. ] AKA, I'm supposed to be nice. All day long.
I have a lot that could be sleepy Derek faces.
It was a little called for.
And if it was somewhere else we doubt you'd be complaining, sidhe.Once he comes back around, kinks worked out (at least a little) from his neck, he buries his nose in Stiles' hair at the back of his head. ] All day long, huh.
Such a cute.
[ Considering he actually sought Derek out, it probably wasn't that much of a chore. The fact was that their relationship was a bit of a push and pull (if a bit is an extreme understatement), and maybe a part of him had quietly figured he'd take his day and use it to show the faoladh he had another side, too.
Even if he attacks him with his stubble for no reason.
Shh.Cute 4 a cute.
This is the best way to wake up in the morning, bar none. Every day should be puka day, or at least start like it is. He'd miss the heavy banter, the hard push and pull between them, but having this every now and then? Well, it'd be nice.
Not that he doubted there was a softer side to his puka, but. ] It's like my birthday came a couple days early.
Aw shucks.
But he grins a little and leans into his chest, shifting the pan over the burner a little. ] I would've put a bow on my head if I knew you needed a present. Enjoy it while it lasts, Wolfman.
More cutes.
Bowing forward further, he rubs his cheek against his hair, idle nuzzling. ]
You're behaving and I'm not going to have to chase you around all day. I think that's present enough.
So many cutes.
He does roll his eyes, though. ] You make it sound like chasing me is a nuisance. I make that shit awesome. Your life would be boring without me in it, don't even joke. [ And tilts his head backwards a little, nosing at his cheek. ]
Every cute.
He cracks an eye open when he moves, though. ] You are a nuisance. [ But he turns into the nosing, enough to catch their noses together in a bump afterwards. ] You're my nuisance, though.
uwu
This place has grown on him since he first arrived, and Derek really kind of helped that.
He can just feel him rumbling against his back, and rolls his eyes goodnaturedly, pushing at the egg with his spatula as he gives into the nosebump to press his lips to the spot just above the stubble on his cheeks. ] Somebody woke up on the right side of the bed.
babiesss.
Both eyes open to look at him as he feels the kiss high on his cheek, clear and green-gold-brown. And after everything, he feels like he knows what Stiles falls under.
Tipping forward, he kisses the corner of his mouth, letting out another rumble. ] No one's screaming, the crops are good this year, no one's come to yell about livestock or children in wells, and you're in my kitchen.
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[ Sometimes he missed it. Sometimes he'd pull little ones on Derek--nothing huge, because he loved Derek like the moon loved the sun, but that was part of how he showed his attention. Things like hiding all of his clothes and hiding meat in weird places in the house for him to chase down in the morning as a wolf when he was still sleep bleary, or stealing his shaving stuff (and replacing it with nicer ones.)
So maybe they usually ended in presents, but. It's how a puka shows their love.
Carefully flipping the omelette, he lets it hit the pan again with a satisfying sizzle noise and leans a little further back into him, enjoying the sensation of the rumble against his back. ] I could totally go back to that tomorrow, if you wanted.
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Turns out people were thunking the bucket into the cow's head. [ It had been a chore, getting the cow back out. But he'd managed, and he'd chased Stiles clear across the fields in retribution before he pounced him and sent them both down a hill.
He's thankful, that Stiles has gotten his share. It's less frustrating for him, when he has legitimate threats to deal with and not a trickster playing pranks in retribution. But the occasional prank doesn't hurt, and there's a sort of affection even in the rest of the village for the little things. Their faoladh certainly enjoys the errant gift-trick, that's for sure.
A small kiss, more the drag of his lips against his skin as he speaks, gets pressed to the hinge of his jaw as he leans back into him. His arms wind around him a little tighter, and he chuckles against Stiles' back. ] No, I think I'll keep this. [ That, there, is an actual kiss to soft skin. ] Keep you here.
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It was fun, in its own weird little way. Eventually, he grew to enjoy the faoladh's company, as animal or creature or human both, and Stiles is now more or less content to spend his time harassing him, because his share is right here in this kitchen, snuffling sleepily at his back.
The kiss sparks something in his chest and he turns the heat off of the stove as the omelette finishes--he turns around and props his arms on Derek's shoulders. ] I'm supposed to be nice all day, you know. So--your wish is my command, or something like that.
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He sways a little with him, content and warm, savoring their proximity. It doesn't matter if they're man or beast, he's happy. Stiles has his share, but Derek's found something rather like it, here.
His hold loosens a little to let Stiles turn, and he watches him with keen interest and a relaxed expression. ] Do what makes you happy.
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There are many, many years ahead of them--immortality is funny like that.
The odd smile quirks up a little as he looks down at Derek's chest, patting his hands there once. ] What makes me happy. What if that's just tormenting you all the time?
[ It used to be. He looks up at him from under his eyelashes for a second, then slides both hands up to his cheeks to pull him in for a kiss, soft and slow. ]
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It's a new thing. They've got time to develop it properly.
Eyes dropping from Stiles' face as he's patted at, he chuffs something soft before he meets his gaze again. ] I'd be worried if you outright stopped.
[ He knows better. It's why he lets himself be drawn forward, meeting him in the kiss and sliding his hands so that one rests in the small of his back, the other between his shoulders. ]
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Playing tricks would make him happy. It always does, because he likes to see when his plans go off without a hitch, likes to drive Derek crazy. But it's not the same as the quiet in the morning, the smell of the omelettes behind him.
He speaks against his mouth, though, lowly, one side of his lips lifted in a facsimile of a smile. ] That's it? What makes me happy. All day long.
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Even at the risk of being pranked later on, if that in fact makes Stiles happy. It might be a day where he's expected to behave, but the faoladh knows that he basically just gave him the go ahead to be ornery.
But nothing happens, save for the press of words against his lips. ] That's what I want: whatever makes you happy.
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Instead, his grin grows a little more and he gives his shoulders a squeeze, kissing him again, once, twice. ] Because this is a good start.
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He presses it to Stiles' lips in the kiss, drawing the hand between his shoulders up to palm at the base of his skull while he chases the quick kisses. ] I do have to point out we should probably eat the food you went to all that trouble to make.
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I guess. [ reluctantly untangling himself from the circle of his arms, stiles squirms out of them and picks up a plate, offering it to derek and grinning at him, nothing but joy in those big brown eyes. best puka's day ever. ] Don't look at it like that, it's not going to bite you. Not this time.
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Unfolding his arms as he squirms, he lets Stiles retrieve the plates, eyeballing the one that he's offered before he actually takes it from him. It's really the look on his face and the brightness of his eyes that has him taking it, not the reassurance. ] Not this time.
HAPPY ST PATTYS HAVE SOME IRISH SIDHE
Where to? [ Seriously, it's the puka's day. Derek gets whatever he wants. He could play one hell of a trick on him if he really wanted to, but Stiles trusts Derek to the point that he probably won't totally torment him. One year, someone tried to stick him in a cage when they found out.
It was unpleasant, to say the least--but that's not a problem with the faoladh. Instead, Stiles just hovers beside him, lazily floating through the air and letting Derek direct him around. ]
EYYYY
He does, in fact, direct him, guiding him along like he's suddenly in possession of a kite. Again, it's not for the first time, yet it'll never not be amusing. ]
If you're leaving it up to me...
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He hasn't voiced that to him, not yet, but it will come in time.
(Especially if he asks, today. Stiles has been looking for a good excuse.)
Cocking his head so the feathers in his hair shift, he looks down at him. ] Well?
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He could recognize it anywhere, and here? Here, it feels almost fleeting in comparison to their very long lives. They're not going to grow old, not the way that mortals do-- hell, they already are old-- and he might...
Well, he would like to continue to grow old with his trickster. ]
Here. [ The faoladh draws him to where his bed is set up, practically a nest of furs and quilts, and steps up onto it so he can take a seat amongst it. ]
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[ Grinning at his own (not really funny) joke, Stiles sets down his plate next to the furs and floats downwards again, cross legged, settling between Derek's legs instead of beside him. Then, he brings the plate to follow, hovering an inch or two off of his knees, and goes to chow down. ]
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Eat your food, Stiles. [ There's no complaints when Stiles takes a seat between his legs. Rather, he just shifts a bit so that he can pillow his legs with his own, bent slightly while he sets the plate down in Stiles' lap. If he's going to inhabit his space, he's going to be put to use. ]
c:
not that derek's planned on rending his flesh for a long time, but still. it adds an element of thrill to their games.
at the moment, maybe the domestic is more suiting, considering. the puka leans backwards into his arms and forks his pancakes, taking a bite and chewing contentedly. deeming it apparently satisfying, he stabs another piece off of derek's plate and offers it to him. ] See, look, poison tested.
pucaladh pucaladh
Though the bared teeth aren't particularly foreign, considering their games. Especially before they became games to Derek.
Rolling his eyes at the comment, he still curls one arm around the puka's middle and opens his mouth as the food is offered to him. Not that he thinks Stiles would poison anyone, that's a little too malevolent for him. He's just... chaotic, that's all. ]
best.
(so long as they paid their share, of course.)
he'd done the same here, gently turning away wandering children from the lakeside and keeping crops healthy and bountiful--the pieces of his share he'd gathered grew smaller and smaller each year, until nowadays, he was just a rumor around town. and that was because, truly, the young puca had found his share, sitting right here with him, eating his food. derek was all he really needed in life, and it was kind of nice.
once he's sure he's satisfied, stiles leans backwards comfortably against his chest and grabs his own plate from midair, starting to down the eggs.]
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[ It's obviously teasing, and Derek adjusts his arms to let him get comfortable against him, reaching around him so that he can access his own food. The arrangement is a good one, one that he wouldn't really change for anything these days. The village is prospering, with both a faoladh and a puca to watch over it, and the chaos of his pranks and meaner tricks have since died down.
Derek's not stupid, he knows that he's become the puca's share. But he doesn't mind it, if it makes Stiles happy, because it makes him happy. Not something he ever expected to have, but all the same. He has it. ]