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Stiles groaned and pulled the duvet up over his head in an attempt to drown out the sound of the alarm blaring from his phone on the bedside table. The sunlight illuminating the bedroom hadn’t really bothered him or his sleep, but the sound of beeping certainly did.
He heaved a sigh of relief when the beeping stopped for a second, and he was ready to fall back asleep to the distant sound of birds chirping and cars driving down the street, but then the beeping started again, as did his groaning.
“Staying under there isn’t gonna make the alarm stop, just so you know.”
Slowly, Stiles pulled down the duvet just enough so he could peek over the edge of it, and he glared daggers at Derek in the doorway to the bedroom. Derek who was panting and sweating, one earbud still in his ear while the other hang loosely down his chest. A small grin was on his lips, hands on his hips.
“How the fuck are you so awake already?” Stiles complained, letting his head fall heavily onto the pillow again with a sigh.
The alarm was still very much going, but he couldn’t be bothered with it.
”I’ve been awake for hours, Stiles,” Derek said and walked into the room, his footsteps soft. His running shoes were put neatly by the front door. “And it’s 10 am, so get up.”
“I don’t wanna,” Stiles whined from under the duvet.
The alarm finally stopped beeping, and there was a dip in the mattress when Derek crawled onto it. Crawled over Stiles and pulled the duvet down a bit, before he leaned down to kiss him softly. Just once.
“I’ll make you pancakes if you get up,” he whispered, dropping a kiss to the tip of his nose.
Stiles shifted under both the duvet and Derek to get a better look at him. He was grossly sweaty from running but still gorgeous. “Make me five pancakes, and I’ll consider getting up.”
Derek gave him a look and rolled his eyes, then got back up from the bed. “If you’re not out of bed by the time I finish my shower, you can make your own damn pancakes.”
“Mean!” Stiles called out and flung a pillow in Derek’s direction. It hit the quickly closed bathroom door and fell to the floor.
Stiles stayed in bed until the shower had been running for about a minute, and then wrapped the duvet around himself to relocate to the living room.
He wasn’t working that day, he could stay in his sleep cocoon if he wanted to.
*
“How many do you want?”
“Five hundred.”
“Stiles, you can’t eat five hundred pancakes, I can’t make five hundred pancakes, and we don’t have enough ingredients. How many?”
“Fifty.”
Derek rolled his eyes, a fond smile on his lips that Stiles couldn’t see from where he was seated on the couch, eyes on the television showing some morning cartoons that had most of his boyfriend’s attention. “I’ll make you five.”
Stiles made a whining noise, and Derek didn’t need to see his face to know that he was pouting.
When the pancakes were done and stacked on two plates - six on one, three on the other - and the kitchen was (mostly) cleaned, Derek joined Stiles on the couch and handed him the plate with six. Stiles made a happy noise as he dipped his head down to sniff at them, a smile pulling at his lips.
“You’re the best,” he said and scooted over to press himself against Derek’s side, while Derek wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “I love you.”
“Love you too,” Derek said back and leaned in for a short but soft kiss.
The two of them didn’t move apart as they ate their pancakes and watched the cartoon playing on screen in front of them. Stiles ended up laying on his back with his head in Derek’s lap and moaning about how overly full he was, and Derek couldn’t and didn’t even try to hide his laugh.
“Don’t laugh at my pain, you asshole!” Stiles yelled and swatted at his face, but he was quick to bring his hands back to his stomach to rub soothing circles against it.
“I told you you couldn’t eat them all,” Derek managed to get out between bursts of laughter.
“Shut your pretty face and rub my tummy.”
Derek did as he was told, but he didn’t stop laughing.
*
“Do we have toilet paper?” Derek asked as he turned the cart down the next aisle, one hand on the cart, the other holding the grocery list.
“Unless you shit a river since we last bought some, I think so,” Stiles replied, reaching out to grab some bread from the shelf and dumping it in the cart.
Derek rolled his eyes and grabbed the cart with his other hand as well, the grocery list between his thumb and index finger. “We’ll get some toilet paper anyway.”
“Is that your subtle way of saying you laid a massive werewolf dump?” Stiles looked at him, a teasing grin on his lips.
Derek returned it with a deadpan look. “How are you 27?”
Stiles shrugged, the grin not leaving his lips. “I think the better question is, how do you love an immature 27 year old like me?”
“Well, you do have a few redeeming qualities.”
“Oh, just a few?” Derek nodded, finally returning his teasing grin, and Stiles huffed. “You see if I make you dinner tonight now, asshat.”
“You say that like it’s a threat,” Derek shot back, pausing to grab a pack of cheese and holding it up to Stiles. “We need cheese?”
Stiles shook his head. “No, we’ve still got some. And it is a threat. I was gonna make something really tasty, and now I just might not.”
“Might being the keyword,” Derek murmured and headed for the aisle with the toilet paper, last thing on the list.
“Okay, so maybe I’ll still make the tasty dinner,” Stiles said, throwing his arms out for a moment. “But!” He held up a finger, pointing it at Derek. “No desert.”
Raising a brow, Derek looked from the finger to Stiles. “I didn’t even know there was going to be desert.”
Stiles was silent for a moment. “Well, there wasn’t. Not unless you count eating my ass,” the tips of Derek’s ears turned red, “as desert, which I do. But now you ain’t getting any of this sweet meat, baby.”
Derek huffed a laugh and shook his head, his ears red. “You’re ridiculous.” He stopped the cart in front of the toilet paper and put a pack in the cart. And then another.
Stiles raised a brow at him. “Are you planning on shitting a river or laying a massive werewolf dump?”
Rolling his eyes, Derek pushed the cart toward the check-out. “Shut up, idiot.”
*
“Salt me, baby.” Stiles held his hand out, eyes not leaving the pan where the food was cooking.
Derek put the salt shaker in the stretched out hand and moved to stand behind his boyfriend, sliding his arms around his middle and pressing his lips to the back of his neck softly.
“Derek,” Stiles said in a warning tone, somehow still more focused on the cooking than on Derek kissing up along his neck. “I’m cooking. No funny business, please.”
“Just a bit,” Derek murmured against his skin, before he nipped lightly at Stiles’ earlobe, grinning when he saw a flush appear on the previously pale skin.
Stiles sighed softly, his eyes closing and his head tilting to the side to give Derek more access to his neck. “The food,” he mumbled but his attention was already slipping away from what he had previously been doing, when Derek’s hand moved up under his shirt.
“It can wait a minute,” Derek whispered back, pressing himself against Stiles and kissing back down his neck. “Just a minute.”
Giving in, Stiles turned around in Derek’s arms and dragged him in for a kiss that was firm and almost immediately deep. His hands got buried in soft, dark hair, and he let a soft moan escape from him into the kiss, while Derek’s hands moved down to his lower back.
Derek’s front teeth had just dug gently into Stiles’ bottom lip, when there as a particularly loud sizzling from behind them. A sizzling that snapped Stiles out of the kissing daze.
“The food!” he exclaimed as soon as his lips disconnected from Derek’s. He pushed away from Derek and turned around in a second, cursing loudly as he tried to save it. “This wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t so damn distracting!” he yelled over his shoulder.
“How is this my fault?”
“You’re the one who kissed me, Derek!”
“And you kissed back.”
“Well, duh! Just- Stop being distracting and go set the table.”
“Yes, dear.”
*
“Derek!”
Toothbrush still in mouth, Derek stuck his head out of the bathroom and raised a brow at Stiles.
Stiles who stood in his underwear and held up a shirt. “Is this yours or mine?”
Derek gave it a look, then shrugged. “Does it matter?” he managed around the toothbrush, his words only slightly muffled but understandable.
Besides, Stiles had become pretty much fluent in Derek Language after years of dating.
“I guess not.” Pulling the shirt on, Stiles get into bed and under the duvet. “You done in there yet?” he called out ten seconds later, head on the pillow. “I wanna cuddle!”
Derek spit into the sink, washed off the toothbrush, and then left the bathroom. “All done,” he said as he crawled into bed, immediately over on Stiles’ side of the bed.
“Mm, nice.”
The two of them shifted around until they were spooning, Derek’s back pressed against Stiles’ front. They laid there, the room dark, for a moment, before Stiles shifted his legs and wiggled his feet in between Derek’s.
“Your feet are icicles, Stiles,” Derek murmured, but he didn’t move or react in any other way.
“And you’re a walking heater,” Stiles whispered back, kissing the back of his neck when his feet found a comfortable position between Derek’s shins. “Perfect match.”
Derek huffed, a smile forming on his lips. “Sure.”
“Love you, sourwolf.”
“Love you too.”