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Stiles is pretty sure he’s uncomfortable with how unsurprised he is to find Derek in his bed when he gets back to his room. He wanted a sandwich. There is now a werewolf in his bed. He was gone for fifteen minutes, max. Why is there a werewolf in his bed?
Better question, why is a werewolf being weird in his bed? Derek seems to have burrowed himself into a cocoon of blankets on Stiles’ bed and it’s weird. Derek’s being weird.
He debates his options and decides that making a judgmental face was the correct first response. He frowns exaggeratedly and aims for nastiness in hopes Derek picks up on his forceful hints.
He sits down at his computer desk, making sure to keep up the scowl, and tears into his sandwich. With his mouth full, he rolls his eyes and asks, “Well are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?”
Derek grumps from his nest that has been created out of blankets on Stiles’ bed. Seriously. It seems all of Stiles blankets and clothes (did Derek really get them from the closet? Is this really Stiles’ life?) are burying Derek underneath a bizarre, potentially cute (but not really) heap of fluff.
“Seriously, man. You better not be dying. This better not be a werewolf’s last death rites or something,” Stiles says. He would sound more upset if Stiles’ hadn’t gone in for a second bite of sandwich.
Derek twists himself around in the cocoon to pout at Stiles. No, honest to god, Stiles sees in horror, that is a pout. Not a glare, not even a stare. That is a pout.
“Wolf’s bane? Does wolf’s bane do this? Is that it?” Stiles gapes, setting down his sandwich.
Derek pouts some more and curls himself back around. Now that might be cute. It might be. Stiles doesn’t know. Stiles doesn’t have experience with adorable alphas being sleepy puppies in his bedroom. On his bed.
Since he’s an asshole, he walks to the bed with intentions of ruffling Derek’s hair and calling him somewhat species-prejudiced nicknames, but Derek yanks him into the cuddle-cave of clothes before he can start.
“Dude, what the hell!? It’s not like you’re going into Heat are you!? That’s not actually real is it!?” Stiles cries as Derek situates them underneath a few layers of fabric and latches onto Stiles’ torso.
He wraps his arms around Stiles’ chest and his legs around Stiles’ before he grunts in contentment.
Stiles squirms a little. A lot. Stiles attempts to wiggle himself away from Derek’s warm, soft embrace.
He stops when Derek begins to nuzzle his cheeks and murmurs, “Stop.”
Stiles starts Derek’s name when Derek answers the question, “It’s not-,” he mumbles sleepily, “It’s not like that. It’s not-,” Derek attempts to explain, as he keeps pausing. “It’s not a heat. It’s not- it’s not sexual. It feels more like… a Warm. If you want to give it a name…” he trails off, as he nestles himself closer to Stiles.
Stiles eyes widen and he forms a small little asinine smile before laughing, “Oh my god, that’s so lame!”
Derek ignores him, but Stiles tries to meet his eyes. “Seriously? That’s so non-threatening. Dude the internet was so off-base on the whole raging-sex-fiends motif. No, really, do the hunters know what adorable cuddle-monsters you guys become? Very frightening.”
Derek rolls his eyes and tells Stiles to shut up. Stiles laughs some more, because, “Dude, as far as your orders go, that one was pretty weak.” Then he asks, “Does this happen to all wolves? Because Scott was pretty mushy-headed and gooey-eyed for most of sophomore year.”
Derek murmurs, “Only born wolves go through it. Now shut up.” Stiles laughs, but complies. He maybe snickers a little over what he paraphrases as “shut up and let me prove my wolfdom and cuddle the shit out of you.”
Derek ignores him and bites his jaw. Stiles laughs some more but settles into Derek’s wolfy body.