[ it's early when stiles wakes, warm and loose-limbed and grasping onto the fuzzy images of a good but fleeting dream. it's early enough that the sun has only just barely begun to peek over the horizon, the den still mostly dark save for the dim, purpley-orange light that bleeds through the windows from outside. stiles wakes slowly, and for no particular reason - or maybe it's just that he shifted over in bed, and found one half of it empty; not entirely cold, but not warm enough to keep him from wondering how long derek's been up. he drags one lazy hand through the sheets where there should be a warm, solid body, and breathes in deep through his nose, his eyebrows pinching slightly.
phantom hands slide over his ribs, touch the sides of his throat, hazy, dream-like images flickering in his mind. dark hair, a low, gravelly voice murmuring in his ear. stiles breathes out, tilting over onto his back and stretching one arm backwards over his head, his other hand splaying over his ribs like he expects to find derek's there, like they were in his dream. he's alone, though, and though he's barely coherent, he settles and just... listens, eyes still closed, breathing slow and sleepy.
he can hear someone in the kitchen - the soft clink of a mug being carefully set down on the counter, the faint slide of a drawer pulled open and then pushed shut, the low hiss of the coffee maker, and stiles knows it's derek trying his best to be quiet, to let him sleep, like he always does. stiles hums a low note as he exhales again, his hand sliding from his ribs to his stomach, threadbare t-shirt rusting quietly under his palm. his fingertips stop at the waistband of his boxers, but only for a moment, and then his fingers drift lower, idly passing over his cock, half-hard and sensitive.
in the kitchen, he hears derek murmur something unintelligible, his tone threaded with quiet affection. stiles drags his hand back up his torso, brings his other arm back down, and lightly pulls his hands over his face before pushing his fingers up into his hair, twisting his body and arching his back in a long, sleepy stretch. he sighs, and with a lot of effort, he turns himself over again, onto his side, and uses both of his hands to push himself up, sliding his legs over the edge of the bed and letting his feet settle against the cool floor.
for a moment, he just sits there, still with his eyes closed, his hands pressed palm to palm between his knees, his shoulders hunched slightly. he still feels tired and heavy, like he could easily sleep for a few more hours, but there's a - a neediness in him, too, that far outweighs any exhaustion he might be feeling. slowly, stiles opens his eyes, not even half way as he blinks blearily at the bedroom window and the sun that seems to be struggling to keep awake just as much as he is. he wets his lips, draws one hand out from between his knees to rub at the edge of his jaw, and then braces the same hand against the bed by his thigh, pushing himself to his feet.
the den is dim as he wanders out from the bedroom, but his eyes are adjusted to the darkness as well as a human's can be, so navigating is relatively easy. stiles shuffles down the hall, arms crossed tight over his chest in two overlapping 'v's, hands gripping his own shoulders in a way that makes it look like he's hugging himself, and follows the faint scent of coffee to the kitchen - and derek, standing at the counter with his back to stiles, but stiles can tell by the tiny pause in his movements and the way he tilts his head just slightly to listen that derek knows he's there.
stiles says nothing as he stumbles around the island, his hip bumping the corner of the counter. he stumbles enough that he instinctively uncrosses his arms just in case he needs to catch himself, but he's just fine, and steps up behind derek, letting his eyes slide closed again. silently, he tilts his head forward, leaning his forehead in the space between derek's shoulders, right at the base of his neck, and breathes in deep, his nose pressing against warm skin. he hums another low note as he breathes out, and rests his palms against derek's hips, sliding them forward and around to his front, one over his ribs, the other over his stomach, standing so they're chest-to-back. if stiles subconsciously presses his hips forward a little, well - he doesn't exactly feel guilty about it.
murmuring, he presses a lazy kiss to the back of derek's neck, his voice a little raspy. ]
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phantom hands slide over his ribs, touch the sides of his throat, hazy, dream-like images flickering in his mind. dark hair, a low, gravelly voice murmuring in his ear. stiles breathes out, tilting over onto his back and stretching one arm backwards over his head, his other hand splaying over his ribs like he expects to find derek's there, like they were in his dream. he's alone, though, and though he's barely coherent, he settles and just... listens, eyes still closed, breathing slow and sleepy.
he can hear someone in the kitchen - the soft clink of a mug being carefully set down on the counter, the faint slide of a drawer pulled open and then pushed shut, the low hiss of the coffee maker, and stiles knows it's derek trying his best to be quiet, to let him sleep, like he always does. stiles hums a low note as he exhales again, his hand sliding from his ribs to his stomach, threadbare t-shirt rusting quietly under his palm. his fingertips stop at the waistband of his boxers, but only for a moment, and then his fingers drift lower, idly passing over his cock, half-hard and sensitive.
in the kitchen, he hears derek murmur something unintelligible, his tone threaded with quiet affection. stiles drags his hand back up his torso, brings his other arm back down, and lightly pulls his hands over his face before pushing his fingers up into his hair, twisting his body and arching his back in a long, sleepy stretch. he sighs, and with a lot of effort, he turns himself over again, onto his side, and uses both of his hands to push himself up, sliding his legs over the edge of the bed and letting his feet settle against the cool floor.
for a moment, he just sits there, still with his eyes closed, his hands pressed palm to palm between his knees, his shoulders hunched slightly. he still feels tired and heavy, like he could easily sleep for a few more hours, but there's a - a neediness in him, too, that far outweighs any exhaustion he might be feeling. slowly, stiles opens his eyes, not even half way as he blinks blearily at the bedroom window and the sun that seems to be struggling to keep awake just as much as he is. he wets his lips, draws one hand out from between his knees to rub at the edge of his jaw, and then braces the same hand against the bed by his thigh, pushing himself to his feet.
the den is dim as he wanders out from the bedroom, but his eyes are adjusted to the darkness as well as a human's can be, so navigating is relatively easy. stiles shuffles down the hall, arms crossed tight over his chest in two overlapping 'v's, hands gripping his own shoulders in a way that makes it look like he's hugging himself, and follows the faint scent of coffee to the kitchen - and derek, standing at the counter with his back to stiles, but stiles can tell by the tiny pause in his movements and the way he tilts his head just slightly to listen that derek knows he's there.
stiles says nothing as he stumbles around the island, his hip bumping the corner of the counter. he stumbles enough that he instinctively uncrosses his arms just in case he needs to catch himself, but he's just fine, and steps up behind derek, letting his eyes slide closed again. silently, he tilts his head forward, leaning his forehead in the space between derek's shoulders, right at the base of his neck, and breathes in deep, his nose pressing against warm skin. he hums another low note as he breathes out, and rests his palms against derek's hips, sliding them forward and around to his front, one over his ribs, the other over his stomach, standing so they're chest-to-back. if stiles subconsciously presses his hips forward a little, well - he doesn't exactly feel guilty about it.
murmuring, he presses a lazy kiss to the back of derek's neck, his voice a little raspy. ]
Mn. Coffee smells good. [ ... ] You smell good.