Work Text:
_ _ _ _ _ _
Stiles asks Peter to order him a set of blank bone china and silverware to gild and design as a gift to the Hale Pack. He swears Peter to secrecy after he finally agrees, squashing any protests about how it's unnecessary.
He selects a traditional 5 piece dinner, salad and bread plate with bowl, cup and saucer along with serving pieces of platters, several serving bowls & plates, gravy bowl, sugar bowl, salt & pepper shakers and salt pigs. As time goes on and at their wishes, Stiles will probably provide additional matching pieces such as a tea service but for now this main set will serve.
He plots out the design, working in a third of a circle that he'll fold to cut. The stems of the cluster of bay leaves will almost meet in the middle, suggesting a triskelion. At three points a fern unfurls toward the center, with holly at the others, all surrounded by a border of running ivy.
Yes, he thinks, this will do nicely.
Working around the stencils he cut, he checks the sizing has lain properly and gently places the gold in place with feather-light touches. Sigils and symbols to guard against poison flowed out from the center, a thin rope laid to separate it from the border of vines, weaving over to keep the ceramic from ever breaking or chipping, encouraging the set to remain intact. A touch of magic creates a delicate buzz through his fingertips and with that, the pattern is set into the porcelain.
He looked at the stack of blank pieces in front of him, trying to gauge how long it would take to complete the entire set. If he didn't get pulled into any other nonsense, he should have it all ready by the next full moon.
The silverware was done by a similar method. Stiles would design and then carve out the complimentary design in reverse using a block of steel, then use the die to relief stamp the handles. A curl of three stems start in the lower left corner, spiraling up and curving back, ivy and fern over bay that he'll gild while leaving the rest of the piece silver.
_ _ _ _ _
He's dressed up in what Peter says passes for "nice but not formal" in this place. Peter left all the clothes for him on a rack at the cabin, an entire outfit from socks to shirt coordinated for him to wear. Tucked into one of the front pockets of the pants was a small roll of red. Stiles remembered Peter's instructions to wear exactly what was left out and laughed. Peter was shameless.
_ _ _ _ _
"Thank you for your hospitality, Talia. I hope that these serve you and yours well for years." Stiles couldn't resist a good pun.
On the table sat an entire service, all a lovely shade of ivory. Gold glinted at each edge and light seemed to pool in the middle of each plate. The silverware was as elegantly wrought, a pattern of bay, ivy and fern chased in gold at the base of each handle. Foodstuffs of all varieties covered the serving platters and filled the bowls, obscuring the designs but not their elegance. The Pack serves themselves and begin to eat, complimenting both the meal and the tableware.
"Do the flowers mean something, Stiles?" Cora asked, pointing at the empty plate in front of her, which had been holding rolls. He puts down his glass and leans around her to point.
"They're spelled against poison. The leaf here," Stiles pointed out the bay leaves along the inner circle, "will shrivel and turn black if a poison is detected. The ferns at the points hold the magic and the holly between protect them from wear or damage, while the ivy here will keep the settings whole and together."
"So they're magic, Stiles?" Cora was wide-eyed.
"Yes, little one, they're magic."
Cora giggled, picked up her plate and tilted it sharply as everyone watched. Her dinner slid off onto the edge of the table then unevenly plopped into Stiles' lap.
He yelped, "I didn't spell them to be spill-sproof, how would I do that without making it impossible for you to remove the food off of them?" His napkin was useless against the onslaught and did nothing to protect his shirt. Or pants. Or anything beneath, thank goodness for werewolf healing.
"The forks are magic too!" Cora pointed out, pouting.
"Not like that, that's not how any of this works!" Stiles looked down at his lap, forlorn.
He really hates zippers.
_ _ _ _ _
Laura's hand appears with a pair of flannel pants and a t-shirt.
"Take these and give me your dirty ones," her tone amused. "Peter still has his machines hooked up in his ensuite, I'll do them in there, just go get them when you hear the machine stop."
Stiles obediently balled up his soiled clothes, ridiculous red underpants in the middle, and replaced them in her hand.
Cora's voice is barely audible in the background, whispering at herself for being stupid. Stiles went back down the stairs and saw Cora sitting in Peter's lap, tucked under his chin.
He was struck by a sudden sense of fondness, watching Peter wipe away Cora's embarrassed tears.
"Cora? I'm fine and so are the clothes, you didn't do anything wrong." Stiles moves to reassure her, slightly awkward as he's not used to being around children. He was an only child himself and Sorcerer hadn't kept any children around. He sits back down at the dining table, chair turned to face her and Peter. "I'm sorry I was loud earlier, I was just surprised."
Cora looks at him and sniffs, "It's okay, I'm sorry I got food all over you."
Peter squeezes her sides a bit and teases her, "Oh? I'll remember this the next time we go out for ice cream, you don't apologize when you get peanut butter and chocolate all over me!"
Cora sticks out her tongue at Peter before knocking her head against his chin.
She is playing with one of the smaller forks and Stiles reaches out to take it from her, "Would you like to help me make something, little one?"
Cora nods, wide-eyed at the idea of seeing Stiles do magic and being able to participate. He holds the fork up and bends out the left tine, motioning for Cora to do the same. To her amazement, it bends like a green twig and stays at the angle after she lets go. She does the same with the others until they are all splayed out.
"Now take the tines and bend them in, that's it," Stiles coaxes along her attempt. His fingers bracket her small ones as the prongs curl in on themselves, rolled like ribbon-roses. "Here, watch." Stiles balances the fork behind the bones of Cora's hand and cupped his hand over the handle, gently grasping around her wrist. When he removes his hand, a curved cuff bracelet is left behind. Cora is delighted and runs off to show her parents, embarrassment forgotten.
Peter tells Stiles as he watches her run off, "You're good with her, even though you're clearly a little nervous around her."
Stiles flushed at the comment, his pleasure visible down to his collar.
"The dryer is still goi—" yawned Stiles.
"We can come back tomorrow for your things, why don't we just head back to your cabin for now?" Peter gently suggests.
Stiles yawns again. "Sorry, yes, let's do that."
After the walk back to the cabin, Stiles sniffs himself and sighs. "I still smell like Cora's dinner, I am going to take a quick shower or I'll have nightmares of drowning in gravy."
Peter chuckles. "I'll join you, sweetheart, just give me a moment."
_ _ _ _ _
Peter stepped out of the shower, aborting his instinctive grab at the empty towel rack. He looked over at Stiles, wrapped in a towel around his waist and another draped around his neck, drying his hair with a third.
"There was only one clean towel, I'm sorry," Stiles said, not sorry in the least. Peter was delightful to look at, after all.
He extends the towel from around his neck, continuing, "I am not looking forward to the looks I am going to get from Laura or the looks I'll *not* be getting from Derek, by the way." Stiles slid his eyes away. "I wore those red underwear you left out for me."
Peter cleared his throat and graciously took the high ground. "Speaking of laundry, are your machines free? I'll throw the bath things in."
Stiles turned back into the bathroom. "They are both empty, I haven't used them in days. The dryer was taking forever so I took out the sheets and just hung them out. I checked inside but there was nothing blocking it."
"It's your dryer, Stiles," Peter called back from the kitchen, quickly finding the problem. "You need to remember to clean the lint trap!"
"It's your machine, my love! I claim no responsibility for it!" Stiles' laugh drifted out from the bathroom.
Peter sighed and smiled, tossing the towels into the washing machine. As he bent down to retrieve the bathmat, a glimpse of red against metal caught his eye.
There, in the otherwise empty dryer, sat Stiles' underwear.
_ _ _ _ _
Peter has a balled up pair of red boxers in his hand.
"These are yours." Peter paused, "Did Laura use the machine in the mudroom?"
"No, she said she used the one in your en suite."
"Look, Stiles, I—" Peter started, "I wanted you to have a home of your own, a place you felt safe, before anything like this happened."
Stiles was surprised, but answered honestly, "There's no home I'd rather have than here."
"Are you certain? I know you feel a special...draw to the Nemeton here but you shouldn't feel trapped. Not again."
"I'm not and I don't. Her promise of service is nothing more than I would have been happy to give. You should just move in here, Peter. You already spend more time here than anywhere but work and you've seen to it that there's more than enough space here. No need to build a new house or move."
"I wanted this space to be truly yours first, Stiles. So you could determine what else you honestly want, and I'm sorry if this changes any of that."
"I know what I want, Peter."
Stiles can't help his eyes from sliding over the desk, knowing the drawer holds plans that would give away his secret.
"We can stay here until we change our minds, and knowing that, that is freedom."
_ _ _ _ _
Language of flowers:
Bay Leaf - I change only in dying
Fern - magic
Holly - domestic protection
Ivy - endurance, faithfulness