Work Text:
Derek was slow to wake up. He clung to sleep, content in his warm bubble underneath the blanket, and he knew that today he could just laze around. There was no reason for him to get up yet.
He could hear Stiles in the kitchen, humming under his breath while puttering about and Derek couldn’t help the slow, lazy smile that spread out. He knew exactly what Stiles was doing, could imagine his every step just by listening to him, that’s how well he knew his routine in the morning.
Derek always thought back fondly to Stiles’ outraged face when he had first realized that Derek was most definitely not a morning person. Stiles had yelled about being cheated and misguided because he thought they could be morning people together, which still baffled Derek.
As much as Stiles had expected him to be a morning person, Derek had expected Stiles to not be a morning person.
And yet here they were, Stiles making breakfast for them after being awake for at least an hour already, and Derek still sleepy enough to just roll onto his other side and drift off again.
But the bed was warm, and smelled like them and home so, really, who could blame him.
Derek slowly woke back up when Stiles nuzzled his face. He must have fallen asleep again after all, because he could smell pancakes and coffee now, as well as Stiles.
“Wake up sleepy head,” Stiles mumbled, rubbing his nose on Derek’s cheek.
Derek stretched his neck back, giving Stiles more access and rumbling contentedly when he dragged his cheek over his throat. He let Stiles do this for a few moments before his hands suddenly snapped out and dragged Stiles back under the covers.
Stiles screeched but it soon enough morphed into laughter, rich and warm, when Derek wrapped himself all around Stiles.
“You can’t fall asleep again,” Stiles told him, carding his fingers through Derek’s hair and making no real move to get out of bed again. “The coffee will go cold.”
“Make new one,” Derek mumbled into Stiles’ skin where he had hidden his face away and Stiles huffed.
“That’s just wasteful,” he reprimanded Derek, but there was no bite in his voice, continuing his ministrations.
Derek had yet to open his eyes, and he was very against that idea, so instead he cuddled closer to Stiles and was ready to just fall back asleep.
Stiles kept a steady stream of words up, but instead of rousing Derek with it, they just washed over him in a familiar, safe way and soon enough Derek was sure that he was missing big chunks of what Stiles was saying.
“Derek, I’m hungry,” Stiles eventually said, some undetermined time later, and Derek shrugged as best as he could, with his arms still wound around Stiles.
“I’m not,” he muttered, and Stiles lightly swatted his shoulder.
“You are the worst,” Stiles complained, heartbeat not even necessary to betray the lie, because Derek knew that Stiles loved him.
Derek was warm and safe, tranquil and content, and he hadn’t felt like that since his family died all those years ago. And he would never be able to put into words just how much Stiles gave him, how much he gave back to Derek just by being there and loving him.
Still, he had to try anyway.
“Love you,” Derek mumbled, dragging his lips up Stiles’ throat and cherishing every shudder he pulled out of Stiles.
“I know that, Derek. I love you, too,” Stiles said and pressed kiss after kiss into Derek’s hair.
The coffee, and the pancakes, were ice cold when they finally managed to drag themselves out of bed.