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“I told you to stop touching it.”
“I’m not touching it!”
“I can see you touching it, Stiles.”
“Whatever,” Stiles said, crossing his arms as he dropped back onto the bed. “I totally wasn’t touching it. You don’t have eyes in the back of your head.”
Derek huffed and turned back around, a first aid kit in hand. Stiles sat straight back up then, only to groan and wrap an arm around his side once more.
If anyone asked, Stiles would say that he totally got injured in some badass, heroic way. He totally wasn’t running from the current Monster of the Week only to trip over his own feet and nearly brain himself on a rock.
There was a gash sliced open across his chest. Stiles winced as Derek knelt down in front of him, frowning at it. Like the injury had somehow personally offended him or something. Stiles snorted at that, earning a strange look from Derek.
He just shrugged. “I’m just curious, but when was the last time you cared that I nearly died?”
“I’d care if you died.”
“Aw, Sourwolf. Would you say some nice things at my funereal?”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“I’m just saying,” Stiles said. “There was this one time I showed up with a bruised face, bloodied lip, and cracked rib and I don’t think even Scott cared.”
Derek’s face hardened at that. He glared even harder at the gash before angrily dabbing at it. Stiles squeaked and tried to shy away.
“Dude, ouch! That hurts!”
“I should have checked in on you,” Derek said. Stiles blinked at him.
“Dude, it’s fine. I’m not bitter.”
Derek looked a little bitter. Stiles studied him for a moment longer before barking a laugh.
“Oh my god, you totally care about this token human.”
“Shut up.”
“Derek, I’m just gonna say it. I’ve totally gotten under your skin.”
“Like a parasite.”
“Rude!”
Stiles thought there was a hint of a smile playing along Derek’s lips when he rolled his eyes and set the cloth aside, studying the injury again. Stiles was pretty sure it wasn’t bad at all, but Derek had taken one look and told Stiles either he came back to the loft, or Derek was taking him to the hospital.
Looking at it now, Stiles laughed again. “Dude, that’s just a little baby cut.”
“It could’ve been worse.”
“Oh yeah, definitely. I could have gotten an infection and died.”
“You could have.”
“Oh my god,” Stiles said, pushing himself up. “You’re no fun, you know that?”
Derek rolled his eyes. Stiles pulled out his phone but then hesitated, glancing back. Slowly, he raised an eyebrow.
“Why the hell do you have a first aid kit lying around anyway?”
“Why do you think?”
Stiles grinned from ear-to-tear, turning around again. He scrolled to his dad’s name, just to let him know he was finally heading home, and waved a hand through the air as he wandered back out of Derek’s bedroom.
“Whatever, you totally care about me. Now if you’ll excuse this token human, I’m going home. My bed is calling and it’s like… oh my god,” Stiles blinked at his phone. “It’s three am, dude. I can’t go home now! My dad is the lightest sleeper you’ve ever met and he’ll totally ground me for life.”
Derek stood silently in the doorway. Stiles spun around, pointing a finger at him.
“I blame you. This is your fault.”
The man just blinked silently. Stiles thought for some reason, he looked a little pleased. Groaning, he typed out an ‘At Scott’s’ message, knowing there was no way his dad was going to fall for that. But Stiles still had yet to explain… things. Werewolf things. And currently, he’d take distrust over putting his dad in danger.
“I’m staying here,” Stiles said flatly. Derek raised an eyebrow and Stiles crossed his arms. “The pups are already asleep and you, sir, can spare the couch. The next time you nearly hospitalize me over a small cut, I hope you remember this.”
“I will,” Derek said. And Stiles didn’t think he was being sarcastic.
Huffing, he stuffed his phone into his pocket and wandered down the hallway to find some extra blankets or pillows. But, finding nothing, he popped his head back around the corner.
“Dude, I’m not sleeping on that lump of a couch without at least a pillow.”
“Okay,” Derek said, pushing his bedroom door open. Stiles blinked a few times and then narrowed his eyes.
“What?”
Derek raised an eyebrow, his meaning obvious. Stiles crossed his arms, sitting back on his heels.
“Dude, what are you playing at?”
“It’s a big bed, Stiles,” Derek said flatly. “If you don’t like it, you can sleep on the floor. I don’t care.”
“You totally care.”
In response, Derek turned back into his bedroom, vanishing from sight. Stiles stayed rooted to the spot for a moment, debating his options. Because yes, he could probably share a bed with— oh my god— Derek Hale. But Stiles was… okay, you know what? Stiles was a growing boy. The feelings he may or may not possibly have were completely not his fault.
But he was totally waking up early tomorrow morning and making a run for it. Stiles did not need to see Erica’s smug grin if she came across any of this.
Stupid werewolves and their super-sniffers. She always caught him thinking bad thoughts at the worst moments.
Usually when Derek was around.
After another long moment, Stiles plodded into the room after the werewolf. He could share a bed just fine! He and Scott used to all the time.
When they were literal children.
Derek was already under a giant pile of blankets, his back to the door. Stiles held his breath as he climbed in bed behind the man, carefully turning his back toward Derek was well. The last thing he wanted to do was have his throat ripped out because he accidentally ended up snuggling the man come morning or something.
It took him a long time to fall asleep. And by the time he did, he was nearly falling out of bed trying to make sure he stayed very far away.
Stiles woke up first.
That was exactly like he’d planned except for some reason, he was sweating. Like, drowning in his sweat, and he was pretty sure he couldn’t move. It took a few moments of tired blinking to realize there were a pair of giant arms wrapped around his chest, caging him against the mattress, and a stubbled face pressed into his neck.
Stiles froze.
If Derek woke up to this, Stiles was so dead. He’d never be able to show his face at the loft again. He could probably get his stomach sliced open and Derek wouldn’t bat an eye.
Stiles was an idiot. And he had to escape.
He tried to move slowly. A wiggle there, a bit of ducking underneath Derek’s unfairly muscular arms here. By the time he was halfway out, Stiles was pretty sure he was going to be caught in the most compromising position ever.
He ended up with one foot out of bed, one foot still tangled up in the sheets, and ended up just oozing to the floor.
Derek grunted and Stiles froze, staring in terror at the ceiling. But then the man rolled over, seemed to go right back to sleep, and Stiles let out a soft breath.
His phone read six o’clock in the morning as he crept out of Derek’s bedroom.
Erica was sitting on the couch.
“Oh my god,” Stiles said, resisting the urge to groan. “What is wrong with you betas? It’s six in the morning! Go back to bed.”
“Sleep well, Stilinski?”
“I am not engaging in this,” Stiles said, ignoring Erica as he pulled his shoes on and started toward the door. But the beta cut him off before he could make his escape, a smirk tugging at both sides of her mouth.
“I won’t say anything,” she said. “If you make us breakfast.”
“That’s blackmail.”
“I want pancakes and eggs.”
“I’m pretty sure Derek doesn’t have anything in that kitchen of his other than protein powder, raw meat, and bread,” Stiles said flatly. Erica just grinned.
“You’d be surprised at the things he has around this place to impress the annoying token human.”
Stiles blinked at her. Because… he was the annoying token human, wasn’t he? Allison was definitely very human, but Stiles was pretty sure she was just drop-dead gorgeous and exceedingly nice, not annoying.
Erica raised a brow and rested her shoulder against the loft door, waiting. After a moment, Stiles groaned, turning back around and starting toward the kitchen. Erica’s laugher followed him.
Stiles hated Derek’s betas sometimes.
He was pretty sure he heard the sound of Erica’s door shutting and of course she was going back to sleep. Stiles briefly considered making a run for it, but then he just sighed, resigning himself to his fate.
He made some mean pancakes. He better get all the praise in the world for this.
By the time Stiles had a neat stack of pancakes on one plate and a skillet of scrambled eggs on the stovetop, he realized Derek was standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Just standing there, looking at Stiles with an odd expression on his face.
Stiles froze, feeling a blush creeping up his neck. A dozen excuses came to mind but none were better than, “Erica made me.”
Which Stiles realized also wasn’t great. But Derek just nodded quietly and plodded into the kitchen, coming to stand behind Stiles. The man studied the food over Stiles’s shoulders and Stiles shivered a little, painfully aware of how close he was standing.
For a moment, all he could feel was arms locked around his chest. A stubbled face tucked into his neck. Derek’s warm breaths on his skin.
Stiles was pretty sure his heart skipped a beat.
Then Derek was reaching around him, stubble brushing against his ear. Stiles went stock-still, not moving a muscle, only to realize Derek was reaching for one of the pancakes. He made a noise of protest, trying to smack the man’s hand away, and Derek’s arms wrapped around his waist instead.
Stiles froze. “Derek.”
The man didn’t say a word but he’d gone stock-still too. Stiles swallowed hard.
“Dude.”
“You’re making breakfast.”
“An astounding observation.”
“In my loft.”
“... Erica made me?”
Derek finally pulled back, fingers ghosting over Stiles’s sides. Stiles shivered despite himself and then Derek was reaching over again, grabbing a pancake and moving away before Stiles could protest. He glared as Derek took a giant bite.
“You animal.”
Derek raised an eyebrow. Stiles glared harder.
“Pancakes with no syrup is a crime.”
“I don’t like syrup.”
“Because you’re an animal. Next thing I know, you’ll be begging for ear scratches and whining when I pet you.”
“No dog jokes,” Derek grumbled, dropping onto the stool in front of the counter. His hair was sticking up in all directions and he was still wearing the same rumpled clothes from yesterday. It was kind of adorable. “It’s too early.”
“That’s the only objection you have about what I just said?”
“If you ever try to pet me, I’ll rip your throat out.”
“There the Sourwolf I know.”
Derek gave him a flat look, taking another pointed bite of his pancake, but Stiles thought he could read a hint of a smile. Before he could say anything though, the betas came plodding in. Erica last, looking from Stiles, to Derek, and then back with a small smirk. Stiles rolled his eyes and returned to finishing the eggs.
This was blackmail. The only reason he was still here.
Stiles could still feel phantom arms wrapped around him, though. The brush of stubble against his ear. Once more, he shivered and this time, it was Derek watching with an amused expression. Or maybe a pleased one. Stiles just rolled his eyes and looked away.
Whatever. He didn’t care.
There was another first aid kit in the drawer that Stiles opened, searching for the silverware. Despite himself, he smiled. Another one. Because apparently Derek didn’t trust him to not be an idiot.
Or maybe the man cared a little too.
Stiles closed it carefully and might have been smiling even brighter when he turned back to the eggs. Erica was downright beaming now and Stiles flat-out ignored her. Whatever. He could survive this level of blackmail.
And maybe he would accidentally stay over again some time.