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Story Notes:
For the Ice Cream square on my Sterek Summer Bingo card.

“Why can’t I get a cone?” Stiles looks at Derek curiously, unable to figure out why he’s been prohibited from ordering one. Derek knows him well enough to be aware that telling him not to get a cone is like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Now, Stiles is going to have to get one just to be difficult.

“It’s hot outside; a cone will melt before you can eat the ice cream.” Derek’s response is logical, but Stiles knows there’s something more to this because the tips of Derek’s ears are turning red.

This is getting curiouser and curiouser, which then makes Stiles think about Alice, and he starts trying to cast the characters with his pack, which distracts him from the ice cream thing for a minute or two.

“I’d totally be the Cheshire Cat, wouldn’t I?” He nods slowly. “I actually don’t mind that because he’s pretty cool.”

“What?” Derek blinks at him, and Stiles is then pulled out of Wonderland thoughts by those beautiful hazel eyes that defy description.

“Why can’t I order a cone?” Stiles might get distracted, a lot, but he always comes back to the important questions. “They make their own waffle cones, Derek. Do you smell that delicious aroma of vanilla and cinnamon? What kind of husband are you that you’d deprive my tastebuds of that crispy goodness?”

“Stop playing dumb. It doesn’t suit you,” Derek mutters, dragging his fingers through his hair as he looks around the crowded ice cream shop before focusing back on Stiles. “The No-Hanky-Panky-Rule is in effect, and I’ll be damned if we break it this year.”

“God, no, we don’t want to break that one or the pack would never let us live it down. I mean, we still tease Isaac and Danny for the Shared Shower of 2016 incident, and that was years ago.”

Stiles understands why the pack created the rule, the only real rule any of them actually try to follow, because having all of them sharing a beachhouse for a week means shared rooms and werewolf senses being overwhelmed. Keeping sexy times out of their rental house is the first thing the pack agreed on the summer after graduating high school when they rented a beachhouse.

It’s become an annual tradition in the decade sense, with new pack and serious significant others joining them every summer. No one really wants to be the first to break it, either, because of the teasing and the fact the pack never forgets.

“We’ve made it ten for ten without breaking it, and we aren’t going to start this year. So no ice cream cones, Stiles.”

“See, that’s where you’re losing me. What does a cone have to do with us breaking the No-Hanky-Panky-Rule?”

“I swear, the sun must take drain your intelligence. Either that or you’re being deliberately obtuse, Stiles. Why do you think?”

“I think you’re adorable when you’re blushing.” Stiles leans up to press a quick kiss against Derek’s jaw before nuzzling his beard in a totally PG rated way because they’re in a crowded ice cream shop. He lowers his voice and whispers against Derek’s ear, “And I think you get turned on watching me lick ice cream cones, right? Is that it? You know you won’t be able to resist giving me something hard and warm to lick after I finish my ice cream.”

“Sometimes I hate you.” Derek’s tone is affectionate and his lips are curled into a slight smile even as he tries to look grumpy. “Stop looking so smug or I’ll get a cone and we’ll see how cocky you are when the pack is teasing you for the next fifty years about lacking restraint and being too horny to last a week without sex.”

“Right. No cones for either of us then,” Stiles agrees, shuddering at the mental image of Erica tagging all his Christmas gifts to Horndog like she’d done to Liam three years ago.

Soon, they’re at the counter, and he orders a double dip in a cup but asks for a cone on top, like a party hat, because he’ll concede defeat but there’s no way he isn’t going to eat one of those waffle cones. Derek just shakes his head but doesn’t protest, so Stiles figures it’s a win/win. Of course, he’s also plotting mischief because it’s him. It doesn’t matter that he’s a fine upstanding deputy of twenty-eight because his husband’s issued a challenge of sorts even if Derek doesn’t realize he has, though he probably did because he’s sneaky that way.

“Do you want to go join the others on the beach to swim or do you want to walk along the beachfront more?” Derek eats a spoonful of ice cream and shrugs when Stiles looks at him. “I don’t have a particular preference.”

“Walking is good. I love our pack, but it’s been three days of someone constantly around, so I like it just being us right now.” Stiles is resisting the urge of just devouring the ice cream because it’s delicious; he’s so glad that place opened up since last summer. When he notices Derek watching him, he starts licking his spoon. He even hollows out his cheeks to suck some of the ice cream off the plastic. Derek trips while staring at him, which makes Stiles laugh. And he almost chokes on the spoon.

“That’s what you get for being a brat.” Derek smirks. “Stop teasing me, Stiles. I’m not going to break the No-Hanky-Panky-Rule even if you smell like sex and desire and felate your spoon until I come in my pants like a horny teenager.”

“Derek, babe, who’s being dumb now? You know that rule only applies to the house.” He kisses Derek with intent then pulls back and winks, waggling his eyebrows. “I’ll race you to the usual spot. Loser gets something much better than ice cream to lick.”

They laugh as they take off running to somewhere private without a No-Hanky-Panky-Rule.