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Stiles woke to the funny sensation of suffocation. It probably had to do with the two hundred pound werewolf plastered across his back, weighing him down into the mattress.
“Der,” he groaned into the pillow. It was way too hot for this. The height of summer, with a crappy little window unit and a living furnace for a boyfriend, was not the time for cuddling. “Ger off.”
Derek just huffed against the back of his neck, the asshole.
Stiles craned his neck around awkwardly to suck in a fresh(ish) lungful of air. “Seriously,” he slurred groggily. “Least let me get comfortable.” There was another warm huff against his neck, but Derek complied and rolled off of him. He let out a long groan at the relief of not being crushed under a pile of pure muscle.
The moment he’d settled onto his back, limbs starfished out to maximize cooling, Derek was glued to his side, head tucked under his chin, arm curled around his stomach, and leg tangled around his own.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he grumbled with no real bite. Derek just rumbled against his chest.