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Stiles wakes slowly, pulled from his slumber by nothing in particular, save perhaps the warmth radiating all along his side. He stretches languidly, feeling it all the way down to this fingers and toes and he squeaks his pleasure, high in his throat.
Against him, Derek grumbles in sleepy annoyance before curling further into Stiles, throwing an arm across his waist and a leg over his thighs, pinning him down to the bed even more than he already was. Derek’s breath ghosts against Stiles’ collarbone as he sighs in his sleep and Stiles grins even as a blush spreads across his skin at the touch. He’s not a wearing a shirt and his pants are somewhere on the floor and Derek’s naked skin is so warm against his own. Stiles shifts a little, just to feel the still so new slide of Derek body against his own and the rasp of his dark hair. Derek’s arm tightens around his waist and Stiles sleepily pats his back, fingers brushing against the outline of the tattoo that he now knows is there.
It’s a perfect autumn afternoon and the golden sunlight in creeping through the window, climbing across the bed and warming the parts of Stiles that Derek isn’t touching. They had fallen asleep kissing, or at least Stiles thinks they did. They’d been reading, sitting next to each other and leaning against the headboard, shoulders and legs touching. And then Derek had plucked the book from Stiles’ hands and tossed it aside before he’d curved across him and buried his face in Stiles’ neck. Derek had inhaled deeply, snuffling into the curve of his throat as his hand had spread across Stiles’ ribs and Stiles hadn’t really wanted to read after that.
He remembers kissing Derek for what felt like an hour. Lazy, wet, indulgent kisses that left his whole body feeling heavy and sated and on edge at the same time. They’d kissed until his lips felt swollen and bruised, but still aching for more of Derek, more of the sticky-wet slide of lips and the searching pressure of fingertips. They’d kissed until Stiles’ neck burned with the marks from Derek’s teeth and tongue and the rough scratch of his stubble. They’d kissed until they were no longer sitting up against the headboard, but stretched out across Stiles’ bed, slowly tangling together in Stiles’ messy sheets.
He’d lost his shirt to Derek’s greedy hands and then he’d lost his pants too. Stiles remembers the way his hips had lifted on their own accord to press against the perfect weight of Derek and the way Derek had pushed back against him. Stiles had known what could happen between them, there in Stiles bed, where they could take the building ache, the new want that was always there these day, just under the surface. He knew what Derek could smell on him and how easily he could hear the heavy, rapid beating of his heart. He knew Derek felt his desire. With his clothes on the floor and Derek’s senses, there was no hiding it. But it was still so new, this thing between them, and Stiles was secure enough in himself – and in them - to know when he wasn’t quite ready for more.
Stiles remembers Derek instinctively pulling back, just a fraction, just enough to let Stiles know that he knew, that he understood. Derek had smiled into the next kiss even as his hands had soothed down along Stiles’ flanks.
“I don’t want to leave,” Derek had mumbled against his mouth and Stiles had tightened his arms around Derek’s body.
“Then don’t,” he’d answered.
They’d fallen asleep still kissing, Stiles is sure, lulled by the warmth of the sun and their own bodies and the slow rolling pleasure of it all.
Stiles stretches again, as best he can with the weight of Derek’s body pressing him down into the bed. He likes it though, likes the feeling of Derek’s skin and his heavy muscles, the way he’s broader than Stiles, the way he can almost cover him completely.
“Stop moving,” Derek mumbles, arm tightening around Stiles’ waist.
“We fell asleep.” Stiles reaches down to card his fingers through Derek’s surprisingly soft hair. It’s softer than his fur, smoother under Stiles’ fingertips than the coarser brush of Derek’s ruff.
“I could tell.” Derek sounds deeply pleased, which Stiles doesn’t quite understand, but he thinks he might be learning.
Stiles scratches his fingers down Derek’s neck and back and he grins at the way Derek pushes and wriggles into the touch. “I liked it.”
Derek sighs, lips smacking softly. “Me too.”
Stiles feels so young sometimes. Derek isn’t that much older than him, but Stiles is pretty sure that Derek’s at least done…things. Things they haven’t done yet. Not that Derek cares about that. But even this is new to Stiles, sleeping with another person, another boy he’s attracted to. But he likes it. It’s a thrill in a way he never expected and he likes that it’s Derek who wants him in return.
“We could do this more often,” Stiles edges. “And, you know, maybe more…”
Suddenly, Derek tenses against him, going preternaturally still.
“What?” Stiles asks, fingers quieting their movements against Derek’s tattoo.
“Your dad,” Derek whispers.
“Wha-” But Stiles doesn’t get to finish because Derek is moving in his arms. Stiles gasps at the uncanny sensation of skin shifting into fur, human arms and legs contorting and sliding into lupine limbs, spine crackling into a long, new shape.
In the space of several breaths, where Derek was lying half on top of him, now a massive, black wolf rests against his side, huge head on Stiles’ chest. It should frighten him, what Derek’s body is capable of, but Stiles cannot be afraid. He knows this wolf, knows him better than he knows Derek, if he’s perfectly honest.
“Oh my god that was weird,” Stiles exclaims, burying his fingers back in Derek’s thick ruff. Derek grumbles in his chest and blinks at Stiles. His green-gold eyes are still so incredibly human and Stiles still wonders how he went so long not realizing his wolf was something more.
“Oh, don’t be embarrassed. That was-”
A knock on his bedroom door startles him and Stiles doesn’t have time to flip a sheet over his still mostly exposed body before the door swings open and his father fills the doorway.
“Dad!” He squawks.
“Stiles,” the Sheriff says and then his steely eyes drop to the wolf in Stiles’ bed. “Derek.”
Derek huffs, but doesn’t get up. The Sheriff gaze takes in the rumbled sheets and the clothes on the floor – the pile that includes Derek’s things too – and his eyebrows raise.
“Just…door open, okay?”
“Yes, dad.” Stiles is blushing all the way down to his toes. The Sheriff just shakes his head and mutters something about hoping he’d have a few more years before dealing with this before he turns and heads downstairs.
Stiles covers his face his hands. “Oh god.” Derek whuffs and pokes his wet nose against Stiles’ ribs. “Stop that. You cheated. Shifting like that. Leaving me to dad alone.” Stiles grabs Derek’s ruff and gives him a little shake. “Just for that you have stay for dinner tonight.”
Once again, Stiles feels that bizarre sensation of Derek changing against him, body morphing back to human.
Derek props his chin on Stiles’ chest and blinks those ridiculous eyes at him. “Ok,” he agrees.
“What?”
“I’ll stay,” Derek murmurs, and his voice is pitched low and private, even though they’re alone. “For dinner.”
Stiles swallows, feeling that very different kind of weight settle in his chest, warm and comforting. He knows that what Derek is committing to is more than just a dinner and he’s breathless with it. “Oh. Ok. Good.”
Derek’s lips quirk in the tiniest of smiles before he ducks his head and presses a soft kiss to Stiles’ chest, over his heart.