It’s an unusually cold day in Beacon Hills, one of those days where the rain threatens to pour like a living presence but the release of the storm never comes. Stiles refuses to leave the house on principle, as one of the humans who can slip and fall on their face when the rain decides to finally come. The soft light of the mid afternoon floods his room, giving him a wonderful view of Derek’s back sleeping form next to him.
Derek is sleeping off the afterglow —as he usually does— and Stiles, restless as he gets, decides to text someone to come take him out of the misery of being alone in the rain. Scott is more than happy to take his mom’s car, drag Isaac with him, and pick up Allison on his way.
“How come Derek is not with you?” asks Allison when he opens the door for them.
“He’s upstairs. I wore him out. Hi,” he greets. Allison gives him a short peck on the lips, touching her hand to his cheek, leaving a soft caress as she makes her way inside the house.
“You can’t wear out a werewolf, Stiles,” Isaac says confidently.
“You clearly have never fucked Stiles,” adds Scott, moving past him to give Stiles a chaste kiss on the cheek.
“And I intend to keep it that way,” Isaac adds, playfully nudging Stiles away when he makes a kissy face at him.
Comfortable in Stiles’ home as if it were their own, Allison goes directly to the kitchen to scout for snacks while Isaac takes his shoes off and makes a beeline for the tv, where Scott is already setting up the playstation.
“Hey, Stiles? I texted Lydia to bring us some snacks, your cupboard is severely lacking in that department,” Allison says from the kitchen.
“I’m trying to keep my dad’s heart healthy, thank you very much,” he says defensively. “And you guys too. Do you know how much sodium is on those things?”
“Stiles, we’ve all seen you eat funyuns,” Scott calls from the tv, going through Stiles’ games.
“Fine. I buy my snacks as needed, okay?”
Allison comes out of the kitchen snacking on a carrot dipped in peanut butter. She comes up to Stiles and offers him a bite, which he takes.
“Mmm, health,” she says mockingly.
“What is this? Teasing Stiles Day?”
“No, man, that’s tomorrow. Today it’s I-beat-your-ass-in-Mortal-Kombat Day.”
Shaking his head, he says, “dream on, Isaac. Dream on.”
They’re interrupted by a knock on the door that sounds more like a kick and makes them all turn around.
“It’s Lydia,” Scott says, frowning. Lydia usually uses her own keys, comes and goes as she pleases.
Stiles goes to get it and finds Lydia carrying two bags of groceries. He immediately lurches to grab one that Lydia is holding precariously.
“Thank god the store still had snacks, people are going crazy out there, buying stuff as if there’s a hurricane warning.” Stiles gets a short kiss from Lydia as a greeting after that. “You’re lucky I love you guys. I wouldn’t do this for anyone else.”
Allison appears by her side and gives her a kiss on the cheek, taking the second bag from her. “Yes, we’re lucky to have you, you’re a goddess for doing this.”
Lydia smiles. “I’m a goddess either way.”
They settle down by the tv with snacks and drinks, where Isaac fails to kick Stiles’ ass in Mortal Kombat as he predicted. Scott, however, loses terribly in his first fight against Isaac. Stiles is about to tease them for being so predictable when the lights flicker —once, twice— and then they go out completely.
Silence falls as all their electronics turn off and their Mortal Kombat tournament comes to a halt with half-formed words and gasps.
“The wind outside is really picking up,” Scott says.
“Yeah, it’s really fucking loud,” echoes Isaac, wincing, clearly picking up on something the humans didn’t.
“Great.” Stiles stands from the sofa, making his way to the cabinet that his dad keeps stocked for emergencies. “It’s gonna be a long day, guys.”
***
“So, Monopoly or Clue?” asks Stiles after they’ve set up in the living room. It’s getting late and the light is fading, so they set up a flashlight hanging from the ceiling to illuminate the room. It’s not ideal but otherwise they’ll be playing in the dark.
“I thought Monopoly was in the trash after the Incident,” says Allison.
“There was no ‘incident’,” says Stiles, air quotes and all. “New York Avenue was mine.”
“See? This is The Incident, Stiles. I know you and Derek teamed up to screw us over,” Isaac calls from the armchair he’s sharing with Allison.
“I already settled this with Stiles before, I don’t think we have to do it again,” Scott adds. “Look, I’m not playing Clue with Lydia and Stiles. What about Scrabble?”
“And you want to play Scrabble with Stiles and Lydia?” asks Derek coming down the stairs, a spring to his step as he makes his way to the living room, sitting on the arm of the sofa right next to Stiles.
“Yeah, I don’t want that either”—Allison softly smacks Isaac on the arm closest to her—”what? Derek’s right, that’s gonna be over in less than ten minutes and my ego will never recover.”
Lydia, after sipping her drink through a straw, remarks, “let’s just play Monopoly and get this over with. I want the cat token.”
They set the board on the floor and arrange themselves around it, picking tokens and snacks. Derek is the only one who hasn’t moved from his spot perched on the arm of the sofa.
“Come on, babe,” pleads Stiles. “Just come play with us.”
“You all become vicious with this thing.”
“You can be the banker and keep us in check,” says Allison.
“Yeah, Derek, come keep us in check,” adds Stiles suggestively.
With a sigh, he comes to sit next to them. “Fine, but if there’s any crying, I’m leaving.”
***
“You gotta be kidding me,” says Stiles when his chance card sends him to jail. Again.
They’ve been playing for almost half an hour and Stiles has yet to start buying houses for his last property because all of his money has gone to Get Out of Jail cards that his pack are selling him at higher rates the longer they play.
“Oh, I’m enjoying this a great deal,” states Isaac in return.
Stiles ignores him because Isaac’s been rolling great numbers and he’s barely paid any rent so the fucker has money to do whatever he wants. If it weren’t because Lydia is much faster at developing her properties, he’d be winning.
“Ally, please sell me your Get Out of Jail card,” he begs. “I’ll pay good money for it.”
Smiling, she says, “oh, but I want Pennsylvania Avenue, love.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Then you can stay in jail, babe.”
Scott looks like he’s about to say something, but Stiles cuts him off, “no, Scott, I don’t want yours. I’m not paying you that.”
“But—”
“But nothing. I guess Ally is now the proud owner of Pennsylvania Avenue.”
With a bigger smile, Allison trades him the card for the title deed she wanted.
“Isn’t this against the rules?” asks Isaac.
“The rules say I can buy Ally’s Get Out of Jail card.”
“Yeah, but can you trade it for a title deed?” adds Lydia with a pensive tilt of the head. “Let’s ask a neutral party. Derek, can Stiles make this trade?”
“You can’t ask my boyfriend to bet against me!” protests Stiles.
“It’s not betting if there’s not any money,” answers Derek. “And you can do whatever with the title deeds.”
“Hey, that sounds like these two are teaming up again,” adds Isaac with an offended tone.
“Oh my god, no one is teaming up. Nor were we teaming up before,” says Stiles.
“Can we go back to the game, it’s Scott’s turn and I’m sure he’ll stop at one of my properties,” says Allison.
Before anyone can discuss it further, the overhead light flickers back to life. They all cheer —though one or two of the werewolves groan as light floods their enhanced vision— and Scott immediately stands up to get the flashlight they were using and puts it away.
“We can continue with our Mortal Kombat tournament,” says Scott.
“That’s only because Lydia is winning, isn’t it?” asks Allison.
“Are you implying I can’t win at Mortal Kombat?” asks Lydia in return, curving an eyebrow upwards. “I’m wounded, Ally.”
Stiles leaves them to discuss while he goes to the linen closet where he keeps the games. It doesn’t take him long to find what he wants.
“Guys, how about some Twister?”
Lydia is the first to stand up, stretching her arms behind her head. Everyone looks at her hypnotized by the way her body stretches comfortably. Then, using the back of the armchair for support, she lifts her right leg up behind her back and Stiles is sure he isn’t the only one whose insides turned into goo at the sight.
“What?” she asks. “I’m ready to win at something else.”
Allison, who carefully put away the Monopoly pieces, leaves the box on top of the coffee table, then follows suit and stretches next to Lydia.
Stiles looks at his girlfriends and then to his boyfriends —and Isaac— and groans, “this is gonna end up in an orgy, isn’t it?”
No one seems offended at that.
***
Later that night, while they pick up their clothes and drift in pairs to the showers, Stiles says from where he’s still laying down on the Twister mat, “maybe we should play Twister more often.”
Scott, who’s putting on his boxers to help clean up, snorts at Stiles, “Stiles not everyone has your stamina.”
“What a shame,” he replies. “We had fun though, didn’t we?”
Scott throws a cushion in his direction and skips on his way upstairs. Stiles is the last one to get up, the Twister mat sticking to his back as he does so.
“Maybe we need to get a new one,” he says to no one in particular.
Scott calls his name from the stairs. “Man, are you coming or nah?”
Stiles doesn’t take long to catch up.