Chapter Text
Stiles dumped his bag next to his desk and collapsed onto his bed with a groan. They had finally figured out where the witches had been staying. Derek had somewhat forcefully convinced them to move on from Beacon Hills; it had involved Stiles acting as bait, which Derek didn’t like, but he didn’t have a better plan and Stiles was the only one who was human and could get past the witches anyway. Stiles had spent all night researching to make sure that their plan would work, and now he had been awake for upwards of 60 hours. He was tired.
Today was Friday, there was no school tomorrow, and there would NOT be any supernatural attacks this weekend. Stiles was done. He was going to sleep for a solid 24 hours then act like the last few days never happened.
Just as he was about to drop off into a happy state of unconsciousness he heard the window creak open. Stiles muttered a drowsy “Go away Derek,” into his pillow before trying to sleep again.
Of course, Derek didn’t go away. Why would he listen to Stiles? Grumbling, Stiles rolled over and reluctantly opened one of his eyes. Derek stood by the window like the creeper he was, watching him with a thoughtful look on his face.
“What? Never seen someone who needed sleep before? Go away.” Derek moved closer to the bed and Stiles groaned. Derek leaned over Stiles, looking suspiciously like he was about to lie down next to him, or at least get up close and personal.
“Are you trying to scent me?” Stiles asked, since thought to mouth filters were for people who had actually slept in the past three days. Derek looked at him with his head tilted sideways like the answer was obvious.
“Witches,” was the only answer he gave before he crawled onto the bed next to Stiles. The realisation struck Stiles that maybe there had been a lot of contact with witches. Maybe, maybe he didn’t smell like pack anymore? Was he pack? He wanted to be pack. Derek started to brush his hands over Stiles arms and torso methodically.
“Oh my God, you totally are scenting me.” Derek grunted in response, but kept rubbing his hands on Stiles anyway. Stiles watched as Derek’s arms worked, moving over him. Stiles was very aware of how attractive Derek was, and this close proximity was not helping. But there had never really been a worse time to be attracted to Derek because Derek could smell him. And he was close.
Derek rolled Stiles over to start on his back, humming to himself contentment. Lying on his stomach, Stiles was conscious of Derek’s body pressing into his back and was suddenly very glad his front wasn’t visible. Derek started moving down his legs smoothing his hands down the backs of Stiles thighs and past where it was obvious how Derek was affecting Stiles. Derek went very still, and Stiles held his breath. Then, with another hum, Derek continued scenting him. He was more thorough as he worked his way back up Stiles’ body, getting rid of any last traces of the witches scent.
Stiles was suddenly becoming unsure whether Derek was just making him smell like pack. But that was ridiculous; Derek would never see him that way. Soon the soothing motions of Derek’s hands lulled Stiles to sleep.
***
Stiles woke up with a heavy weight draped over his chest and something nuzzling into his neck. After minimal flailing, he realised that the weight was Derek’s arm. Derek was unconsciously nuzzling his face into Stiles’ neck, which Stiles found more of a turn on than he should. A certain twitch in Stiles pants made him realise as much as he was enjoying snuggling, he was going to have to get up and deal with his, ah, condition before his bed-mate woke up and noticed.
Stiles slowly attempted to ease out from under Derek’s arm. He had nearly made it out of bed when he was pulled back onto it from behind, now wrapped up in Derek’s arms even tighter than before. Damn.
“You’re a real cuddler, huh?” Giving a resigned sigh, Stiles noticed that it was early morning. His father was going to be awake soon and Stiles couldn’t let him come in and see Derek in his son’s bed. He would assume things. And though Stiles wouldn’t mind some of those things being true, they weren’t. So he needed to get up.
“Derek,” Stiles poked his arm “Derek, you need to wake up”. Derek mumbled something under his breath and pulled Stiles closer, nuzzling his face into Stiles hair. “Derek, wake up,” Stiles tried shoving at his face, which seemed to work somewhat. He tried pushing Derek’s arms away, hoping that might catch his attention, but they just seemed to pull back tighter. He shoved at Derek’s chest “Derek, we need to get up”. That seemed to catch his attention. Derek blinked one eye open and scowled at Stiles.
“Seriously? You’re not going to let me go? You need to get up dude, my Dad is going to be up soon and I so do not want to deal with that.” Derek gave him a once-over, and then looked meaningfully at Stiles pajama bottoms. Stiles blushed. Unexpectedly, Derek rolled him over and curled him back into his chest.
“Go to sleep Stiles. Your father isn’t home.” Stiles was confused. He was even more confused when Derek buried his face in Stiles neck again. Twisting away from Derek, he gave him a curious look.
“What are you doing?” Derek obviously wasn’t freaking out about having shared a bed with him all night, let alone the cuddling that was still happening. He was feeling he was missing something. Maybe... “Derek, am I pack?”
Derek gave him an impatient look before pulling him into his chest again. Pressing his face to Stiles neck he murmured. Stiles could have sworn he heard him say ‘Mine’, but he couldn’t be sure. He was lulled back to sleep by Derek’s even breathing, and let out a content sigh.