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That Comfortable Kind of Thing

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When Stiles comes back inside, Peter is standing by the stove stirring the contents of a saucepan. Stiles stomps off the snow caked on his boots before hanging his coat up by the door. He's chilled to the bone and aching after spending too long outside.

“Hot chocolate?” He asks hopefully as he comes up behind Peter and slips his icy hands beneath the hem of his sweater, spreading his fingers across Peter's soft stomach to soak in the warmth and defrost his hands.

Peter elbows him lazily, moving to the side in a futile attempt to escape cold hands on his warm, warm skin. “I'm going to end up burning it if you don't stop.” He chastises Stiles with a grin.

No ,” Stiles quietly whines before tipping his forehead against the top of Peter's shoulder.

He's just as broad as he's ever been, but softer where he used to be tightly muscled. Stiles can't say he minds the subtle shift in physique over the years. He slips his hands free and balls his fists in the fabric of Peter's sweater instead.

“Be nice to me. I'm old and my joints hurt . I just spent an hour outside resetting the protection runes.”

His nose is slowly thawing out, prickly like his hands and fingers as blood flow resumes the way nature intended. Peter shifts under his palms as he turns to grab one of the two mugs on the counter. Stiles watches as the steaming chocolate concoction is poured into his favorite mug, a chipped ceramic thing happily demanding Blow me, I'm hot!

He continues, “You should work some of your wolfy mo-jo on me.”

Peter sets down Stiles’ mug and picks up his own, another wide-mouthed mug with Daddy likes painted in cutesy script across the side.

Stiles had gone through a phase of buying any and all slightly (and completely) inappropriate coffee mugs he saw.

“Oh, I should, should I?” Peter asks while he pours the rest of the hot chocolate into his own mug. He sets it back down and turns around.

His hands are almost scalding where they run down the sides of Stiles’ neck. It's comforting. Stiles sighs and leans forward, confident that Peter will hold him up as his hands travel down Stiles’ chest.

“Baby, if you're old at thirty, then I'm ancient.” Peter sounds a little petulant, but mostly amused.

He works his hands up Stiles' arms, squeezing his fingers rhythmically along the way.  

Stiles makes a negative sound. “No, you age like fine wine, I age like a loaf of bread: all stale and stiff.” He reaches around Peter to take his mug in hand. Shrugging his opposite shoulder he says, “I have arthritis .”

Peter’s hands reach the top of his shoulders and he slides his fingers beneath the collar of the henley Stiles borrowed from Peter's side of the closet this morning. The ache in his rotator cuff drains away as Peter pulls the pain from him. Stiles groans in relief, blowing across the surface of his hot chocolate.

Peter raises an eyebrow. “You and I both know it's from injury, not age.”

“Yeah, well I'm just glad that asshole vampire got what was coming to him.” Stiles grumbles. “I was fucking out of commission for weeks.

Peter tsks and says, “I know sweetheart.” Once the pain ebbs away to nothing, he slides his hand around to cup the back of Stiles’ neck. “Besides, I seem to remember just how flexible you are from last night.”

Stiles smiles into the kiss Peter presses to his lips. When they part, Stiles takes a cautious sip of his drink. Perfection.

“Ugh. I love you. Marry me. Again .” Stiles takes another, deeper sip of the hot chocolate. Between Peter's casual massage and pain draining and this hot chocolate, he's thoroughly warmed inside and out.

Peter smirks. “Anytime, any place.”