"Hold still," Scott said and finished doing Stiles’ tie. "There. You look awesome, dude."
Stiles looked in the mirror and shrugged. He saw himself, hair messy (Lydia said ‘artfully mussed’), skinny arms and legs (lithe Scott had said and wow had his vocabulary improved over the past few years), pale skin (which Danny swore would tan if he just got out more) and bitten lips (no help but chapstick for that). Someone had stuck him in a chocolate brown vest and tie and a deep blue shirt.
"I look good," Stiles said and Scott laughed at the shocked look on his face.
Scott hugged him close. “Yes you do. He’ll never know what hit him. Besides me if he doesn’t treat you right.”
"And Derek, and Kira, and Lydia," Stiles said into Scott’s shoulder. "Malia would bite him."
"Malia likes biting period. Now come on, it’s way past time," Scott said and smoothed down his own vest. He hooked Stiles’ elbow and steered him out of the bedroom and to the huge staircase that led to the foyer and open den. He could see the flickering of the fireplace and felt his stomach clench.
"They lit the fireplace," he hissed at Scott who grinned even wider.
"Yeah. Derek said it was time, now stop stalling. Everyone’s waiting."
Stiles didn’t remember the trip down the stairs. He didn’t really remember the words Deaton spoke. He just remembered the way his husband looked is the flickering light from the stone fireplace. Broad shouldered and still except when he reached for Stiles’ hand. Their fingers clasped together and Stiles couldn’t look away from blue eyes, twinkling just for him.
Before he knew it he was being kissed soundly to the cheering of their friends and family. Peter’s strong arms wrapped around him and lifted him up as they both laughed. Then Malia demanded in and Peter set Stiles down to scoop up his five year old and press her between them as they kissed again. She slapped sticky hands to both their faces and Matt, the photographer. took a picture.
"Come on, sweetheart," Peter whispered to Malia, his eyes on Stiles. "Let’s take your Papa outside to the food."
Malia gasped and looked at Stiles with big eyes. “You’re really gonna stay my Papa?”
Stiles knew he was going to cry but he kissed Malia’s cheek. “Youbetchee, sweet bean. Why else would we get all dressed up?”
"Cuz Aunt Lyddie made you," Malia answered solemnly.
They went outside to the sounds of laughter.
The food was excellent, chicken and ribs done on the grill along with vegetables and plenty of fresh bread. The wine was sweet and heady, bottled by Isaac at the beginning of winter and just for them. Malia had grape juice in her glass and toasted with anyone who would raise a glass to her.
After everyone had pushed their plates back, Peter stood, a sub-vocal rumble from the werewolf quieting everyone quicker than a fork tinged on the side of a wineglass. Malia growled and ran to her uncle Derek, sticking her tongue out at her father. Once the giggles died away from that Peter turned to Stiles and took a shaky breath.
"A little over two years ago I came back to Beacon Hills, daughter in tow, looking to make a pack, looking for a home. It wasn’t easy to return with the bad memories but I found my nephew and niece, one of them an Alpha, the other a grumpy cat," Chuckles broke the tension and Malia patted her uncle’s cheeks. Peter raised his glass to the both of them. "Lucky for me, they let me in. Actually I think they let Malia in, I was just extra baggage."
Stiles remembered the return of Peter Hale, Hunter of Hunters and Alpha. It hadn’t gone well, him wounded and no one recognizing his Alpha form. They just knew a wounded, crazed Alpha attacked them until Stiles wandered back to the house cuddling a crying toddler. Peter had surrendered, scent and faces got sorted out and the Hale pack increased by one.
"Everything was roses until Deaton there," Peter gestured to the Emissary. "Reminded us of an old ritual to tie the pack to the land and the people we protect. A handfasting, of the eldest and someone from town. Now Stiles, being the expert researcher, found that the tie would be stronger if the person met certain requirements…" Stiles kicked him from under the table and Peter laughed. "Which some of you know, one of you sought to relieve him of," Peter gave Danny a side eye. "But suffice to say he fit the bill and found himself handfasted for a year and a day to me."
Peter turned to Stiles and raised his glass. “And last month he agreed to make it permanent for which I am forever grateful. To my wonderful husband, Stiles.”
Everyone toasted and Stiles stood, wrapping Peter up in his arms. “I hate you for making me cry again,” he whispered into Peter’s ear.
Peter’s eyes were wet when he pulled back to look at him. “No you don’t. You love me.”
"Ass. Yeah, I do."