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Stiles doesn’t know how much of an early riser Derek is, so he stops at Starbucks on the way for coffee, as a sort of peace offering in case Derek wants to murder him for coming by before first period. He goes ahead and buys four coffees, just in case Derek’s trio of doom is also over there, which Stiles doubts, because he’s pretty sure that Erica and Boyd at least still have parents who expect their children to be living regular teenaged lives. But you never know, so: four coffees, in a little cardboard coffee tray, the carrying of which always makes Stiles feel like he’s a waiter or something.
Stiles knocks on the door of Derek’s warehouse, feeling kind of stupid. No one answers, but he doesn’t take that as a rejection, because it’s a freaking abandoned warehouse and etiquette probably doesn’t even call for knocking in the first place. He walks in with a whistle, because some werewolves that he could mention who refused to do this part of the operation because they couldn’t bear to wake up any earlier than they had to for school, might not be morning people, but Stiles on the other hand feels great at seven a.m. And one of the best things about feeling great at seven a.m. is rubbing it in the face of anyone who doesn’t.
But Derek isn’t around to be annoyed when Stiles pokes his head into the subway car, which—did Stiles really expect him to sleep in here? Apparently he did, but now that he thinks about it, this would make for a terrible bedroom even if you’re Derek Hale. He snoops around the rest of the warehouse, the song he’s whistling getting increasingly abstract and unrecognizable. He eventually finds a separate room in the back, like maybe it was originally an office or something, which has got to be the bedroom. He opens the door with “Rise and shine, sleepyhead!”, just to be an asshole, and then he almost drops his coffee tray in surprise.
There’s a huge king-size mattress on the floor, but there are four people on it. From Stiles’ vantage point, he can see Isaac spooning Boyd, who’s lying on his back, one of his arms tucked under Isaac’s head and the other one—Stiles can’t see the other one. Derek is sleeping on his side, his back to Stiles, but Stiles can see that his feet are all tangled up with Boyd’s. Stiles can’t really see much of Erica, since she seems to be smushed against Derek’s front, but he’s pretty sure that that’s her hand wrapped around Derek’s back, like she’s giving him a bear hug.
At least everyone has pajamas on, although Derek—of course—isn’t wearing a shirt. But still, walking in on post-orgy naptime really wasn’t on Stiles’ to-do list today. He tries to back out of the room as quietly as possible, which is sort of pointless after barging in while loudly telling everyone to rise and shine, and yep: he’s definitely woken up Derek, who sits up with a scowl already on his face. Boyd raises his head, too, making a sleepy questioning noise, but Derek squeezes his shoulder, muttering “Go back to sleep” as he gets up from the bed, and Boyd seems to comply.
“Uummm,” Stiles says, and Derek continues to glare at him, making shooing hand motions. Stiles hurries back out the door, and Derek follows him, not bothering to put on a shirt before leaving the room.
“What is so important that it just couldn’t wait?” Derek growses. He plucks one of the coffee cups from Stiles tray as Stiles opens and shuts his mouth, boggling.
“Uh. Uh, dude, what the fuck, orgies? I knew that you were creepy, but this is kind of—this is really disturbing, actually!”
Derek just looks confused. “What are you talking about? –oh, that,” he says, as Stiles motions frantically toward the bedroom, sloshing coffee everywhere. He shrugs, as if it’s totally normal for an adult man to spend the night in bed with three teenagers. “Usually all of them don’t spend the night, but they were feeling kind of shaky after the full moon.”
“After—what—so you buy them milkshakes or something, you don’t have sex wtih them,” Stiles says, feeling slightly ill. Because okay, it’s not like Derek was high on his list of favorite people, but he hadn’t actually expected the guy to sexually take advantage of three mentally unstable teenagers.
“Sex?” Derek blinks and looks at Stiles like he’s just now begun to comprehend the words coming out of his mouth. So not a morning person, then. “We weren’t having sex. Is that what you thought? Seriously?” Now he looks pissed, and Stiles hurriedly takes a step backward.
“Yes, that’s generally where my mind goes when I see four people spending the night in one bed and it’s not, like, two parents and their infant children, or something.”
“It’s not sexual at all. It’s instinctual for the pack to sleep together. Having enough trust to fall asleep around each other makes all of us stronger, and physical contact helps the pack cohere.” Derek sounds like he’s delivering a lecture about werewolf behavior to a college audience, and it’s not fair that he’s totally refusing to be embarrassed about this; Stiles doesn’t want to be the only awkward one.
Stiles shakes his head. “If it’s so instinctual, how come Scott’s never mentioned this?”
“It’s not something an omega would have felt, or at least not as strongly. Now that he’s joined the pack, he might be feeling urges that he doesn’t understand. Actually—“ He looks at Stiles with renewed interest, and Stiles feels alarm bells go off in his head. “You should tell him about this. Get him to come over sometime, when it’s not a full moon and no one’s life is in danger.”
“Someone’s life is always in danger, you’re werewolves,” Stiles says. “And if you want Scott to come over for a sleepover, you can ask him yourself.”
“Didn’t you hear what I just said about trust?” Derek sips his coffee, huffy. “Scott’s new to this pack. If we’re going to work together effectively, trust needs to be built, especially between him and his alpha.”
This just keeps getting better. “So you want me to tell him not only that he needs to cuddle with you guys, but that he has to do it with you, specifically.”
“It would be best for him to do it with all of us, but yes.” Derek sticks him with one of those intense stares that Stiles hates. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
Stiles groans. “All right, fine. But if Allison gets jealous and comes after you with her crossbow—“
Derek just growls.
*****
“So,” Stiles says, eyeing Scott as the locker room empties out. “Is Derek right? Have you been yearning to snuggle since you agreed to join his little crew?”
“I don’t know.” Scott sits down on one of the benches, frowning in confusion. “I guess I’ve been getting kind of lonely when I go to bed at night, but I just figured I missed Allison.”
“Scott, have you been attributing every negative emotion you experience to not-enough-Allison? Never mind, don’t answer that.” He shuts his locker and sits down next to Scott. “The weirdest thing about it was that Derek treated it like it wasn’t weird at all, like I was the weird one for finding it weird.”
“Well, maybe it’s a thing that actual wolves do, like in the wild,” Scott says. “In which case it’s maybe not so weird. He really wants me to do it with them?”
Stiles squints at him. Scott sounds less freaked out by this whole thing than Stiles expected, which could mean that Derek was right and that Scott has been dealing with suppressed cuddling instincts for a while now, or it could just be Scott being his super-laid-back self. Or maybe Stiles is the bizarre one here, for finding it strange that cuddling is a necessary part of Scott’s secret life as a supernatural creature. It’s not that Stiles has anything against cuddling in and of itself, it’s just that it doesn’t quite fit with the whole deadly-monster image that Derek projects, and that Scott generally fits into every awful full moon. Stiles would never be able to picture Derek cuddling in his sleep with his freaky betas, if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.
“Yes, dude, he really and sincerely wants you to come over for a sleepover. I am not kidding. Do you—look, are you comfortable with the idea? Because I mean, if you haven’t felt any wolfy urges to go for it, you can tell him no.”
Scott scratches his head. “It’s not that I’m uncomfortable with it, I just don’t know if I’d like it. More than any person would like it, I mean. How do I know if it’s a special wolf thing?”
“Only one way to find out. C’mere, you.” Stiles pats his shoulder, smirking a bit. He’s kinda joking, but he also feels genuinely curious about whether or not Derek is right.
Scott gives him a skeptical look, but plays along, resting his head on Stiles’ shoulder. A few seconds pass.
“You getting any tingly wolfy sensations?” Stiles says, and he’s about to laugh it off and stand when Scott sighs deeply and turns his face into Stiles’ neck, nuzzling him. Then he reaches an arm around Stiles and, whoa, suddenly Stiles basically has a lapful of heavy werewolf.
“Whoa, whoa there, buddy,” Stiles says, feeling slightly alarmed. Scott just makes a happy humming noise and leans on him, until Stiles is lying down on the bench with Scott completely on top of him. Scott holds him tighter and hitches one of his legs up over Stiles’ hips, shifting until their bodies are touching at every point that they possibly can.
“So I guess that’s a yes to the wolfy sensations,” Stiles says loudly, shifting uncomfortably. It’s not that he minds cuddling with his best friend, exactly, it’s just—well, he’s a human, and he can’t just leave his self-consciousness behind as easily as werewolves (apprently) can. He keeps wondering if someone’s going to walk in on them, or if it’ll be weird if he returns the physical affection, putting himself out there as much as Scott currently is.
Also, he keeps bracing himself to feel a boner poking him in the thigh, because they are both teenaged boys. But Derek must have been right about it not being sexual, because while Scott seems completely blissed out, he’s not humping Stiles’ leg or anything.
Stiles puts his hand on Scott’s back, patting him awkwardly and then letting his hand rest there. He shifts his hips, getting comfortable, and... well, it’s not like this totally sucks, or anything. He doesn’t have any supernatural abilities to be enhanced by this, but it feels good.
Scott makes a low, rumbling noise that Stiles can feel against his sternum. Stiles sighs, and pets Scott’s hair. “Let me know how the slumber party is tomorrow, k?”
“As if you’re not coming with me,” Scott mumbles against Stiles’ neck. Stiles thunks his head back against the bench, but doesn’t say no.