Fic: Trying to Get (a)Head
Author: tryslora
Title: Trying to Get (a)Head
Rating: R
Pairing/s: Derek/Stiles/Jackson/Lydia
Character/s: Derek, Stiles, Jackson, Lydia
Summary: Guillotine: the revolutionary card game you win by getting a head. Because game night is foreplay. Right?
Warnings: none
Content Notes: fluff, much sex talk without actual sex, snark
Submission Type: Fic (barely)
Word Count: 1600 words
Prompt: #130 - Play
Author's Notes: First: Guillotine is a real game (and SO MUCH FUN). Second: I couldn’t resist the pun. Third: This is so much my OT4 and I just wanted to write game night as soon as I saw play. I hope this bit of silliness amuses y’all. Of course, I do not own the world nor characters of Teen Wolf, I just like to play with them.
“Guillotine?” Jackson holds the box high, the corner of his lip curling. “What is this?”
This is going to be good. Derek kicks back, legs stretched out under the table, arms crossed. It’s a good time to relax and just watch the Stiles and Jackson show. In the background Lydia moves around the kitchen, ostensibly ignoring them, although Derek can hear the way her heartbeat ticks up when Jackson gets snarky.
“It’s a new game.” Stiles points at the chair on the other side of the kitchen table as he settles himself on Derek’s lap. “If I left the choice for game night up to you, we’d be playing Monopoly, which we all hate even more than usual when you play. Derek would pick poker and I can’t afford to lose more money to his perfect stone-face and silent eyebrows, and while Lydia is the one who proposed game night, she refuses to actually participate in picking games. She gave me full reign to pick whatever kind of game I wanted, as long as it can be played on a table.”
Derek curls his hand over Stiles’s hip, fingers pressing idly against him to keep him from wiggling. He raises an eyebrow and jerks his head at the chair until Jackson drops into it, sulking. “It’s Stiles’s night to choose the game,” Derek points out.
“And we trust Stiles, remember?” Lydia says easily. She sets four beers on the table and a bowl of chips, then makes her own space on Jackson’s lap, leaning back as he anchors her there. “It’s game night, Jackson. Try not to be an asshole.”
Stiles smirks. “It’s what he does best.”
“I am not the only asshole in this relationship,” Jackson snaps back, and Derek’s body rumbles with a hidden laugh that he knows Stiles can feel. Derek covers it by pressing a kiss to the nape of Stiles’s neck, waiting until Stiles relaxes under his touch with a small sigh.
“Whatever happened to Risk or Clue, dork?” Jackson mutters, his chin on Lydia’s shoulder, hand possessive over her belly.
Stiles makes a dismissive noise. “Those games are boring and we’ve played them a million times since we were kids. This? This is something new and you are going to love this game. Am I right, Derek?” He reaches for the box and starts sorting out the cards into two piles. “You get to chop off the heads of French nobles, Jackson. It’s violent and has hysterical art, plus you’re trying to be the best executioner at the table.”
“Should I be offended by the implication that I’m a killer?”
Stiles goes stiff on Derek’s lap, and Derek pats his thigh soothingly, stroking back and forth until he feels the bunched muscles relax under his touch. “This has nothing to do with reality,” Derek says quietly. “It’s just a game, Jackson. Nothing to do with actual death or killing.” He remembers exactly how gleeful Stiles was in the game shop the night they found this game. They tested it out, played for hours until Derek reminded him that they had a family to get home to, people who were waiting for them and might be irritated that they’d stayed out so late.
Strangely enough, the temptation for angry sex in the kitchen with Jackson always gets Stiles moving. Derek is just hoping that he and Lydia can eventually convince the two of them to move beyond furious passion and find their way into a more usual sort of passion. Game night is supposed to be a way to foster better communication between the two, but it hasn’t worked yet. Or maybe it’s very successful, depending on whether you define success as good foreplay.
“Fine. Show me the damned game.” Jackson tilts his head as Lydia twists to kiss him, rolls his eyes when she pats his cheek and calls him a good boy. Derek reaches out with his toe under the table, bumps it into Jackson’s foot, pressing lightly to silently echo Lydia’s words.
Stiles just snorts softly, flipping cards over as he explains the game. Derek remembers the rules-three rounds (each one called a day) of a lineup at the guillotine, each card is a French noble worth points-some more, some less, and some negative. Then there are the cards which let them get extra points or manipulate the line so that their favorite noble is at the front, ready to have his or her head chopped off and fall into the current player’s “cart”. The art is cute on all the cards, amusingly graphic in some cases, like the Fountain of Blood. Stiles explains it all quickly, then sets the little cardboard guillotine up at one end of the table before dealing out the requisite amount of nobles.
It doesn’t take long for the competition to begin.
Stiles’s hand drums against the table, fingers tapping one-two-three-four and Derek knows he’s looking at the four palace guards spread throughout the line, because the more he collects, the more they’re worth. When they’d played at the shop, Stiles had discovered them immediately and it was almost predictable how much he wanted to collect them after that.
Derek starts the game off with a bang, playing the Let Them Eat Cake card, bringing Marie Antoinette to the front of the line and collecting her for five points. Lydia’s lips purse in a moue of irritation, and Jackson leans in, attention caught by Derek’s capture of the best card on the table.
Game on.
Stiles plays Trip to move a Palace Guard to the front of the line, then plays the second action card that it allows as Extra Cart to add more nobles to the end of the line. He grins as he collects his guard, then gestures across the table. “You’re up, lizard boy.”
Jackson sticks his tongue out, wiggling it as Lydia swats him murmuring, “You can do that later, if you’re good while we’re playing the game.”
“He was wiggling it at me,” Stiles tells her.
“Fine. Then you can take care of me while he takes care of you.” Lydia’s smile is sweetly sharp. “But if you keep arguing with each other, I will make sure both of your tongues are too busy to talk later.”
Derek catches her eye across the table, and her smile goes wider. Let Stiles and Jackson snark; Derek and Lydia will be in charge later in the huge bed they all share. In the end, game night is only foreplay.
Sometimes it just happens to be really good foreplay. Derek already has images in his mind from Lydia’s idle threat, and his jeans are tight. He shifts slightly, and Stiles leans back against him.
Jackson looks at the cards in his hand, surveys the line of nobles, then looks back to his cards. His brow furrows before his expression eases into a confident grin. “So. If I do this you lose out on all those guards?” he asks, throwing was that my name? on the table in order to move Robespierre to the front of the line and collect him. “Three points, and you guys can’t get any more cards this round. I’ll take it.”
“Oh, it is on, now.” Stiles makes a good show of not being disappointed, simply sweeping the cards to one side and quickly dealing out another day.
Derek just tries to keep his head above water in the game, not drawing attention to Lydia as she quietly benefits from the full-on war Jackson and Stiles have begun. Jackson steals the best cards from Stiles’s pile, while Stiles insists on managing to get the negative cards into Jackson’s pile, which is a decent strategy until Jackson brings out the card that turns all his negative cards into one point cards, leaving him in better shape than before.
By the time the game ends, Derek has few enough points because he never really bothered to try-it was far more entertaining to watch Stiles and Jackson fight it out-and Lydia wins easily.
Jackson insists they play again. And again. And again.
It’s four games and several hours later before they stumble into the bedroom, already in various stages of undress. Lydia strips off her shirt, tosses it to one side and perches on the edge of the bed.
“I won the most games,” Stiles says loudly, his hands on the fly of his jeans, working to get the button undone. “I get head.”
Jackson glares at him. “You collected the most heads, yes, but that does not mean-”
Stiles silences his protest with a kiss. “Your tongue, my dick,” he whispers. “I’ll take care of Lydia. Yes?”
It really doesn’t take much to get them both naked and in bed, agreeing on that at the very least. Lydia is happy as long as one of them is taking care of her, and Jackson honestly doesn’t seem to mind being ordered around. And Derek gathers them to him, keeps them all in line and in his bed, takes care of them in his own way and lets them take care of him.
Sex is like a fight sometimes, but Derek doesn’t mind, not as long as he has them all here with him, not as long as he can keep them all. His gaze meets Lydia’s and she tilts her head, a small smile tilting her lips on the heels of a low moan, and he knows they’re thinking the same thing: family game night is definitely worth keeping. Especially when it ends in bed.
[MODS: Could I get a pairing tag for Derek/Jackson/Lydia/Stiles, please and thank you!]
Title: Trying to Get (a)Head
Rating: R
Pairing/s: Derek/Stiles/Jackson/Lydia
Character/s: Derek, Stiles, Jackson, Lydia
Summary: Guillotine: the revolutionary card game you win by getting a head. Because game night is foreplay. Right?
Warnings: none
Content Notes: fluff, much sex talk without actual sex, snark
Submission Type: Fic (barely)
Word Count: 1600 words
Prompt: #130 - Play
Author's Notes: First: Guillotine is a real game (and SO MUCH FUN). Second: I couldn’t resist the pun. Third: This is so much my OT4 and I just wanted to write game night as soon as I saw play. I hope this bit of silliness amuses y’all. Of course, I do not own the world nor characters of Teen Wolf, I just like to play with them.
“Guillotine?” Jackson holds the box high, the corner of his lip curling. “What is this?”
This is going to be good. Derek kicks back, legs stretched out under the table, arms crossed. It’s a good time to relax and just watch the Stiles and Jackson show. In the background Lydia moves around the kitchen, ostensibly ignoring them, although Derek can hear the way her heartbeat ticks up when Jackson gets snarky.
“It’s a new game.” Stiles points at the chair on the other side of the kitchen table as he settles himself on Derek’s lap. “If I left the choice for game night up to you, we’d be playing Monopoly, which we all hate even more than usual when you play. Derek would pick poker and I can’t afford to lose more money to his perfect stone-face and silent eyebrows, and while Lydia is the one who proposed game night, she refuses to actually participate in picking games. She gave me full reign to pick whatever kind of game I wanted, as long as it can be played on a table.”
Derek curls his hand over Stiles’s hip, fingers pressing idly against him to keep him from wiggling. He raises an eyebrow and jerks his head at the chair until Jackson drops into it, sulking. “It’s Stiles’s night to choose the game,” Derek points out.
“And we trust Stiles, remember?” Lydia says easily. She sets four beers on the table and a bowl of chips, then makes her own space on Jackson’s lap, leaning back as he anchors her there. “It’s game night, Jackson. Try not to be an asshole.”
Stiles smirks. “It’s what he does best.”
“I am not the only asshole in this relationship,” Jackson snaps back, and Derek’s body rumbles with a hidden laugh that he knows Stiles can feel. Derek covers it by pressing a kiss to the nape of Stiles’s neck, waiting until Stiles relaxes under his touch with a small sigh.
“Whatever happened to Risk or Clue, dork?” Jackson mutters, his chin on Lydia’s shoulder, hand possessive over her belly.
Stiles makes a dismissive noise. “Those games are boring and we’ve played them a million times since we were kids. This? This is something new and you are going to love this game. Am I right, Derek?” He reaches for the box and starts sorting out the cards into two piles. “You get to chop off the heads of French nobles, Jackson. It’s violent and has hysterical art, plus you’re trying to be the best executioner at the table.”
“Should I be offended by the implication that I’m a killer?”
Stiles goes stiff on Derek’s lap, and Derek pats his thigh soothingly, stroking back and forth until he feels the bunched muscles relax under his touch. “This has nothing to do with reality,” Derek says quietly. “It’s just a game, Jackson. Nothing to do with actual death or killing.” He remembers exactly how gleeful Stiles was in the game shop the night they found this game. They tested it out, played for hours until Derek reminded him that they had a family to get home to, people who were waiting for them and might be irritated that they’d stayed out so late.
Strangely enough, the temptation for angry sex in the kitchen with Jackson always gets Stiles moving. Derek is just hoping that he and Lydia can eventually convince the two of them to move beyond furious passion and find their way into a more usual sort of passion. Game night is supposed to be a way to foster better communication between the two, but it hasn’t worked yet. Or maybe it’s very successful, depending on whether you define success as good foreplay.
“Fine. Show me the damned game.” Jackson tilts his head as Lydia twists to kiss him, rolls his eyes when she pats his cheek and calls him a good boy. Derek reaches out with his toe under the table, bumps it into Jackson’s foot, pressing lightly to silently echo Lydia’s words.
Stiles just snorts softly, flipping cards over as he explains the game. Derek remembers the rules-three rounds (each one called a day) of a lineup at the guillotine, each card is a French noble worth points-some more, some less, and some negative. Then there are the cards which let them get extra points or manipulate the line so that their favorite noble is at the front, ready to have his or her head chopped off and fall into the current player’s “cart”. The art is cute on all the cards, amusingly graphic in some cases, like the Fountain of Blood. Stiles explains it all quickly, then sets the little cardboard guillotine up at one end of the table before dealing out the requisite amount of nobles.
It doesn’t take long for the competition to begin.
Stiles’s hand drums against the table, fingers tapping one-two-three-four and Derek knows he’s looking at the four palace guards spread throughout the line, because the more he collects, the more they’re worth. When they’d played at the shop, Stiles had discovered them immediately and it was almost predictable how much he wanted to collect them after that.
Derek starts the game off with a bang, playing the Let Them Eat Cake card, bringing Marie Antoinette to the front of the line and collecting her for five points. Lydia’s lips purse in a moue of irritation, and Jackson leans in, attention caught by Derek’s capture of the best card on the table.
Game on.
Stiles plays Trip to move a Palace Guard to the front of the line, then plays the second action card that it allows as Extra Cart to add more nobles to the end of the line. He grins as he collects his guard, then gestures across the table. “You’re up, lizard boy.”
Jackson sticks his tongue out, wiggling it as Lydia swats him murmuring, “You can do that later, if you’re good while we’re playing the game.”
“He was wiggling it at me,” Stiles tells her.
“Fine. Then you can take care of me while he takes care of you.” Lydia’s smile is sweetly sharp. “But if you keep arguing with each other, I will make sure both of your tongues are too busy to talk later.”
Derek catches her eye across the table, and her smile goes wider. Let Stiles and Jackson snark; Derek and Lydia will be in charge later in the huge bed they all share. In the end, game night is only foreplay.
Sometimes it just happens to be really good foreplay. Derek already has images in his mind from Lydia’s idle threat, and his jeans are tight. He shifts slightly, and Stiles leans back against him.
Jackson looks at the cards in his hand, surveys the line of nobles, then looks back to his cards. His brow furrows before his expression eases into a confident grin. “So. If I do this you lose out on all those guards?” he asks, throwing was that my name? on the table in order to move Robespierre to the front of the line and collect him. “Three points, and you guys can’t get any more cards this round. I’ll take it.”
“Oh, it is on, now.” Stiles makes a good show of not being disappointed, simply sweeping the cards to one side and quickly dealing out another day.
Derek just tries to keep his head above water in the game, not drawing attention to Lydia as she quietly benefits from the full-on war Jackson and Stiles have begun. Jackson steals the best cards from Stiles’s pile, while Stiles insists on managing to get the negative cards into Jackson’s pile, which is a decent strategy until Jackson brings out the card that turns all his negative cards into one point cards, leaving him in better shape than before.
By the time the game ends, Derek has few enough points because he never really bothered to try-it was far more entertaining to watch Stiles and Jackson fight it out-and Lydia wins easily.
Jackson insists they play again. And again. And again.
It’s four games and several hours later before they stumble into the bedroom, already in various stages of undress. Lydia strips off her shirt, tosses it to one side and perches on the edge of the bed.
“I won the most games,” Stiles says loudly, his hands on the fly of his jeans, working to get the button undone. “I get head.”
Jackson glares at him. “You collected the most heads, yes, but that does not mean-”
Stiles silences his protest with a kiss. “Your tongue, my dick,” he whispers. “I’ll take care of Lydia. Yes?”
It really doesn’t take much to get them both naked and in bed, agreeing on that at the very least. Lydia is happy as long as one of them is taking care of her, and Jackson honestly doesn’t seem to mind being ordered around. And Derek gathers them to him, keeps them all in line and in his bed, takes care of them in his own way and lets them take care of him.
Sex is like a fight sometimes, but Derek doesn’t mind, not as long as he has them all here with him, not as long as he can keep them all. His gaze meets Lydia’s and she tilts her head, a small smile tilting her lips on the heels of a low moan, and he knows they’re thinking the same thing: family game night is definitely worth keeping. Especially when it ends in bed.
[MODS: Could I get a pairing tag for Derek/Jackson/Lydia/Stiles, please and thank you!]