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Derek wakes up slowly.
He’s aware of movement next to him and he leans forward, his eyes still closed, into the touch that he knows is waiting.
Stiles’s fingers slide over his jaw, one blunt nail scratching against the grain of his stubbled cheek. Derek cracks one eye open and it takes only an instant for his vision to sharpen. He can see Stiles’s face next to him, one side smashed against the pillow, his eyes closed, his hair a mess, and a smile on the visible half of his mouth.
“I win,” Stiles says, keeping his eyes closed.
“Was there a contest?” Derek asks, shifting onto his side, running his hand along Stiles’s back from the dip up along his spine and from shoulder to shoulder.
Stiles sighs contentedly before answering. “You woke up first.”
“It’s almost--”
Stiles’s eyes open and he lifts his face from the pillow. “No. No looking at the clock. Whatever time it is, we’re not getting out of bed yet.”
Stiles is sleep warm and soft and he pushes Derek back against the mattress and drapes his arm over Derek’s chest, his fingers curling around Derek’s shoulder.
“What if I--” Derek starts, but Stiles leans over and kisses him.
“Or we could.” Derek cradles the back of Stiles’s head, keeping him close as they kiss lazily.
“Five more minutes,” Stiles says--part request and part ask--massaging softly into the curve where Derek’s neck meets his shoulder.
“I’ll be right back,” Derek answers, leaning up and landing a kiss against the corner of Stiles’s sleepy mouth.
It takes more effort than Derek expects to get out from under Stiles’s one-armed embrace and off of the bed. Stiles smiles as Derek’s hand slides over his side and back, catching on the fabric of Stiles’s shirt. “Can’t take my shirt with you, though.”
“You’ve got four minutes,” Derek says as Stiles pulls Derek’s pillow over his head.