A Sleep Study
Its five in the fucking morning, but why not write a fic about a much better version of my awake perdicament.
I just wanna let Y'all know that I read all of your tags, every single one, and I really like them, so please tag as much as you want.
Anyway, this one’s pretty short but here you go.
Its four in the morning when Derek wakes up to soft contented huffs of warm air against his neck. He doesn’t remember letting Stiles sleep in his bed, probably because what he does remember includes sticking the little shit on the couch where he belongs.
More than likely, the boy wriggled himself into Derek’s space long after the wolf had fallen asleep, entered REM, and begun to dream. It surprised Derek endlessly that he could sleep so comatose with Stiles wandering around his personal space, sometimes even loudly. Anyone else could crack at the joints around him when they walked and stir him awake. He supposed that’s what trust felt like.
Really, he should kick the teen out of his damn bed. Push him away, tell him to fuck off, and stop letting him frequent his loft so often if this is what he was going to do. But, as he lay on his side and stare down at the sleeping form of the offender, he just can’t bring himself to do it.
Stiles is curled sweetly into his chest, nose pressed into his collar bones, sending furls of his breath in every which direction. His hands grip loosely at the nearest fabric they can find, the left taking hold of the sheets, and his right fingers tangled in Derek’s own sweats. He’s be sleep warm, but as usual, his hands are cold.
Derek thinks the boy’s hair is getting a little long, if the way it sticks up in every direction is any indication. He can’t help but run his fingers through it carefully, wondering for what must be the dozenth time how its always so soft. The sent of the sweet chamomile shampoo he uses assaults his nose when he does, and he inhales it deeply. He’s sure he hated it before, his sensitive nose almost always preferring a person’s natural scent, but now it’s comforting in a way he can’t quite put his finger on.
Stiles makes a little sound if contentment in his sleep, so Derek repeats the motion a few times, until he snuggles up closer, jamming his face right into the crook of Derek’s neck.
He resigns himself to counting the moles he can see peaking out from under Stiles shirt, which has ridden up to his waist, since he’s not tired enough to sleep, but too sleepy to get up. He realizes, only after he’s pressed his palm into the soft skin of Stiles’ back and started to rub, that it’s actually his shirt. Not even a clean one, but the one he’d taken off and tossed on the floor before he went to sleep.
He grins toothily to himself at the image of Stiles finding it and tugging it on unabashedly. Likes its not just about the strangest thing in the world to pick up someone’s dirty laundry and just put it on. He supposes if they were lovers it would be normal, but as they are now it makes him itch to tease. Stiles has obviously picked up the need to scent mark himself from the rest of the pack, probably unknowingly, and it’s stupidly cute that this is how he chooses to do it.
He wonders idly when the things Stiles stopped being ridiculously aggravating, and started being cute. He fondly remembers a time when something like this would have him slamming the kid’s head into his steering wheel.
Now though, his violent urges have been replaced with the urge to pet, and rub, and maybe even kiss. He sternly tells his intrusive thoughts to knock it off and let him sleep, but all he gets in return for his efforts is Stiles’ wriggling around and somehow ending up pressed even close to him in his new position.
He pushes himself back and away, not to escape, but because he wants to continue watching the boy sleep. He keeps an arm around Stiles waist, and uses the thumb of his free hand to trace over his face. Thickly lashed Eyelids, turned up nose, soft pink lips, each feature perfect in its own right.
He’s only a little surprised when Stiles chooses to flutter awake just then, all the moving and touching having been pushing it after all.
He blinks sleepily up at Derek, and Derek, undeterred, continues to have his fill of the boy’s pretty face. This should the part where he pushes Stiles onto the floor and goes back to sleep, but instead he leans forward and presses his lips against the pair he’d just been thumbing.
If Stiles is surprised, he’s too half asleep to show it, and after a few more gentle kisses, he scootches closer with a soft smile and returns the treatment enthusiastically, as if they’ve done this a thousand times. Though they haven’t , Derek decides a discussion about this new development can wait until the late morning.
It’s five in the morning when Derek drifts back to sleep, Stiles held tightly to his chest, blissfully warm and sated.