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It was no secret that Derek was attractive. Hell, the guy looked like something straight out of one of those Calvin Klein underwear advertisements. Everyone who laid their eyes on him wanted to jump his bones, or so the rumor was. Stiles, however, could debunk that rumor in a heartbeat. He didn't have anything against Derek, he just wasn't attracted to him like that.
Well, he wasn't attracted to anyone like that, really. He wasn't completely opposed to sex, but if someone told him that he'd never be able to have sex again, it wouldn't really make a difference to him. He was pretty indifferent towards the idea of sex.
Cuddling, though, was a completely different story. Stiles would cuddle the shit out of Derek, if given the chance.
Stiles knew how hot werewolves ran, having shared quite a few bro hugs with Scott in the past. Derek would be so warm, and he always looked so... snuggable. Stiles would snuggle Derek with the force of a thousand teddy bears.
He smelled great, too. Being up close and personal with all that manly... man scent, would be the icing on the cake. And the sweaters. Derek had taken to wearing sweaters lately, and it was driving Stiles up the wall, not being able to just bury his face in them. They were the type of sweaters that grandpas wore — atrociously hideous, thick garments that were popular among thrift stores.
His sweater choice today was especially maddening. It was baggy, made of a light grey material, had thumb holes on the sleeves, a faded hem, and a swirly stitching pattern along the front. Stiles wanted to throw up. It was making him feel things. Warm, fuzzy things, much like the sweater itself. His beard– and Stiles could call it that now, because Derek had grown it out in the past few months– made his face look softer, and Stiles wouldn't be opposed to rubbing his cheek all over it. He would gladly nuzzle him. Like a cat. Okay, maybe that was a little too weird.
"So, movie night?" Scott looked around the group for approval. Stiles nodded, along with everyone else, trying his hardest not to stare at Derek.
"I'll order pizza," Isaac offered. Derek pulled out his credit card and handed it to him without a word. The asshole. It was like he knew Stiles was already feeling things, and he was being a decent person just to taunt him.
Derek looked over and raised an eyebrow, and Stiles silently cursed at himself. So much for not staring. "Problem?"
"Oh, no. Sorry, dude. I guess I spaced out. Just... thinking about things, you know," Stiles blurted, his face heating up. Thinking about things? Way to be smooth, Stilinski. Derek squinted at him for a minute, and Stiles found himself unable to look away. The crinkles at the corners of Derek's eyes would have to be one more thing to add to the list of things about Derek that drove Stiles crazy. Who knew eye crinkles could be cute? Was that even a thing? Derek finally looked away, and Stiles breathed out a sigh of relief.
Thirty minutes later, Netflix was on Derek's TV, everyone had a plate full of pizza, and a pile of pillows and blankets covered the floor. The pack piled onto the blanket nest, and Stiles ended up sandwiched between Erica and Boyd. He barely had room to move his elbows in the position he was in, so he tried to find a more comfortable one. His left arm ended up above his head and he almost flipped his pizza out of his lap by the time he was done squirming around. Erica sighed and righted his plate, and Boyd completely ignored him.
He tried to find a way to place his arms comfortably for about five minutes before Erica decided that she'd had enough, and kicked him out of his spot. "That's it, Stilinski, you're out. Go sit next to Derek."
Stiles gave an indignant squeak. "But–"
"I want to lean on my boyfriend, there's an empty spot over there, and this," she gestured at him, "is not gonna work for me." She took a bite of his pizza, despite having her own plate in her lap, and handed it back.
Stiles groaned, "You're the worst." Erica smirked at him and took a bite of her pizza. He got up and maneuvered his way towards the empty spot between Derek and Isaac, kicking almost everyone on his way. He plopped down with a huff, his greasy pizza sliding around his plate.
Derek didn't spare him a glance, but Stiles was hyperaware of his presence. He was right there, and all Stiles could think about was how he was totally right, Derek smelled amazing.
Stiles wasn't even sure what movie they were watching. From the few minutes that he actually paid attention, he'd say that the movie was about an evil mirror and creepy children.
After that movie ended, they ended up watching one of the Carrie remakes, which Stiles was completely uninterested in. Derek seemed to be uninterested as well, because he leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes. Stiles stared at him for a few minutes, taking in his profile in the dim light given from the television.
He was totally in love. He wasn't kidding, either. Derek was perfect; he was a secret softie who was simultaneously an asshole, he wore grandpa sweaters, he smelled amazing, he matched Stiles' sass with his own, and Stiles was in love with him.
He could feel the others staring at him, most likely having picked up on his racing heart. Stiles looked at them and sheepishly nodded towards the screen. "Got scared, sorry," he said, trying to stick to the truth.
They turned their attention back on the movie, still looking suspicious. He wasn't really lying, so they couldn't call him out on it. Realizing your feelings for someone can be really damn scary. Honestly, Stiles should have been more freaked out than he was; instead, he accepted the fact that he loved Derek. Grass was green, the sky was blue, and Stiles loved Derek. No big deal.
Okay, he would probably freak the fuck out later. There was a huge difference between having a crush on someone and being in love with them. For right now, though, he just wanted to relax with the pack. He loved movie nights, loved being able to cuddle up with the pack without it being weird. Even though he was human, it meant as much to him as it did to the wolves.
Halfway through the third movie, Stiles dozed off, his head lolling back to rest against the couch cushion behind him. He was completely asleep a few minutes later.
***
Stiles woke up the next day to loud shushing. He blinked open his eyes slowly, squinting into the bright light of the loft. There was giggling and whispering all around the room, and he opened his eyes wide enough to see Lydia standing in front of him with her phone in her hands.
He tried to say, "Are you recording me?" What came out instead was, "'re y' record'n m'?"
It was then that he realized that what he initially though was a massive, firm pillow, was actually Derek's chest. And Stiles was laying on it. He shrieked, flinging himself as far away from the man as possible. "Dude, I'm so sorry, I was asleep, I didn't know what I was doing, I wouldn't invade your space like that on purpose–"
"Stiles," Derek cut him off," It's fine. Don't worry about it."
Stiles snapped his mouth shut and nodded as his cheeks grew red. He was mortified. He had been pretty much on top of Derek, snuggling the hell out of him. And sure, it was better than anything Stiles could've ever imagined, but it was also non-consensual. Derek probably didn't even want Stiles' snuggles. Stiles wasn't the type of guy to force anyone into snuggling with him unless they wanted it just as much as he did.
He was a terrible human being. His stupid limbs didn't know how to keep to themselves while he was sleeping, and now Derek probably felt all weird and uncomfortable. The only thing Stiles could think about the whole time they ate breakfast was the fact that he was a non-consensual cuddler, and he enjoyed it.
He was doing the walk of shame to his car as everyone left the loft when Derek stuck an arm out and stopped him. The rest of the pack walked out and Derek closed the door behind them. As soon as the door was closed, Derek turned around to face him, his arms crossed. "What's wrong, Stiles?"
Oh, god. He didn't have time to prepare an apology. "Are you serious? I was all over you while you were sleeping and I didn't even mean it like that but you still had no say in it and I enjoyed it, like, a lot because you smell really good and wear stupid sweaters and you're really sweet and I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you but you'd never want to be with me because I'm asexual and you're very obviously not and I don't really know what to do," Stiles blurted, sucking in a lungful of air.
Derek stared at him, his face blank. It did nothing to ease the ball of nerves in Stiles' gut. He stared on, wigging Stiles out more and more the longer he went without speaking.
"Well?" Stiles inquired. "Are you gonna say something?"
"I don't really know what to say," Derek confessed. His brows furrowed, and he shook his head. "Let me rephrase that. I don't know where to start."
Stiles swallowed and bit down on his bottom lip. Derek walked towards him. "First off, don't worry about this morning. It's fine. I was already awake and I could've easily moved you if I minded. Second, I don't mind that you're asexual, Stiles. I... I'm in... I feel the same way about you, and that won't change. We can work something out. That is, if you want to..."
"Date? Holy crap, yes, dude!" Stiles exclaimed. He wrapped Derek up in a hug and inhaled. "By the way, you smell amazing."
"You've mentioned that before. Actually, not even five minutes ago," Derek quipped back.
"Okay, asshole, way to ruin the moment," Stiles said, glaring as he pulled away from the hug. Derek rolled his eyes and walked into the kitchen. "Uh, what are you doing?"
Derek turned around and raised his eyebrows. "The dishes?"
"What? Why? We just began a relationship, Derek! The dishes can wait!" Stiles argued. He stepped forward and tried to block Derek from reaching the sink.
Derek grabbed Stiles by the waist and lifted him up, then set him down behind him. Stiles scrambled around and made a noise of protest. "Dude!"
"You gonna help or not?" Derek questioned, squirting soap into the sink and running the water.
"Uh, not. My hands are gonna get all pruny, dude," Stiles said, waggling his fingers in his face.
"Then you're drying. Get a rag," Derek said. He picked up a plate and began to scrub the dried pizza sauce off of it. Stiles glared daggers at his back, cursing his stupid sweater.
He grabbed a dish rag from the cabinet next to the stove, walked back over to the sink, and Derek didn't look up when he handed Stiles the plate he had just finished scrubbing.
They did the dishes for a few minutes, Stiles complaining the whole time. He pauses with a mug in his hand when the surreality of everything that had happened that day hit him. Derek, noticing his panic, paused and set down the plate he was cleaning. "Everything alright?"
"Just..." Stiles paused. "You're really okay with this? With me?"
"Stiles, I meant it when I said that we could work something out. It isn't a problem," Derek assured him.
"I know, but– I'm not gonna be able to give you what you want," Stiles argued, a lump in his throat. Quieter, he said, "I'm afraid that I won't be enough."
"Stiles," Derek snapped. "Look at me."
Stiles lifted his head, meeting Derek's eyes. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were dark; he looked livid. "You are more than enough. You're perfect just the way you are. Just because you don't want the same things that some people want in a relationship doesn't make you any less than them. I–"
Derek cut himself off with an inhuman growl. He opened his mouth to speak again, but decided against it and snapped it back shut. He strode forward and grabbed Stiles' face. "Do you like kissing? Is that okay?"
Stiles nodded, eyes wide. "Uh, yeah! Totally, yes."
Derek surged forward and slotted their mouths together, and Stiles forgot how to breathe. Derek's lips sent shivers down Stiles' spine, and he couldn't help the way his eyes fluttered closed. He wrapped his arms around Derek's back, his fingers kneading into the soft fabric of Derek's sweater. As they broke apart, Derek rested his forehead against Stiles' and took his hands away from his face, instead wrapping them around his shoulders.
"I love you, Stiles. Nothing you say will convince me that you're not good enough for me," Derek muttered, rubbing his hands along Stiles' shoulder blades.
"Wow, okay. So, like, you're really awesome, you know that? Wanna go lay on the couch together, make out and watch Netflix?" Stiles suggested. "It's, like, my dream date. Cheap, fun, and I love cuddling. It's my favorite pastime. Though, I'm not really sure about that, now. Kissing might be even better."
"Who's ruining a moment now?" Derek complained, pulling away. He grabbed Stiles' hand and led him into the den, and Stiles fist pumped the air with his free hand.
"Ah, quit complaining. I'm sure we'll have plenty more to ruin," Stiles replied.