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It was his favorite kind of morning: lazy, no alarms, not too warm, Stiles sprawled across his bed.
Diagonally. Because without obstruction, Stiles always oriented his head toward a corner. (The layout of Stiles' bedroom had made so much more sense after the third time he'd slept over.)
Derek shifted his legs, re-tangling them with Stiles' so he could lie on his side, curl in closer and run his nose along the line of Stiles' hair, then down his neck.
He moved lower, tracing the contour lines the mini-blinds (hell invention, why hadn't he replaced them yet?) threw over Stiles' back. The muscles under his mouth tensed and quivered in a lazy stretch, and Derek pulled back to watch Stiles' hand clench and relax in the sheets, his head turn with a smile that was only thinking about being awake. "Hey. M'rn'n."
"Morning," he rumbled back, and licked a stripe along Stiles' spine. Right between his shoulder blades, where he couldn't reach.
Stiles grimaced and swatted blearily at Derek before rolling onto his side and pushing back against Derek to wipe the saliva off.
Worked every time. Derek grinned and looped an arm around Stiles' waist, burying his face in the curve of Stiles' neck. "You should move in."
Stiles snorted and threw an elbow back into his side. "I already live here."
"Not all the time."
They were silent a few moments, before Stiles twisted and wriggled his way to frowning face to face. "Seriously? You suggest this before coffee. And, dude, I have three living arrangements right now. I can't--"
"After you graduate." Derek rolled his eyes. "You won't need that horrible rented thing--"
"It doesn't make sense to pay for more than a room to sleep in when, oh yeah, I only need a room to sleep in, two nights a week."
They might have had that argument a few times.
Derek glared and nipped the tip of Stiles' nose, just to watch him go cross-eyed. "Finals are over next month. You won't need it after that."
"Yeah. And they already know I'm gone, end of the semester. So it'll just be here and--"
"Your dad can move in too if you're that worried about him."
Stiles braced his hands against Derek's chest and pushed back, probably to get a better look and Derek's face and/or stare at him in shock.
Instead, his upper half slid off the bed.
Derek would have tried to help, but he was too busy avoiding Stiles' flailing legs as he went over the edge. The flailing was aimed in a way he'd rather not have to heal from.
He stared at Stiles' twitching feet for a few moments before crawling to the edge of the bed and staring down. The look he got back was probably trying to be a glare, but Stiles' face was stuck somewhere between horror and incredulity. "You did not just--"
"Yeah I did," Derek drawled. "If that's what it takes to get you to live here, then--"
"Oh god, no!" Stiles flailed again in broad, sweeping gestures that eventually worked to pull his legs down to the floor and get Stiles somewhat upright again. "No no no no no no no."
Derek raised an eyebrow and waited. Eventually, Stiles sighed. "Fuck. Okay. I'll bring it up with Dad. The-- The me moving out, thing. Not the him living here thing, because oh god, no." Stiles shuddered, grimacing. "I don't know if he'll be okay living on his own though. I mean--"
"Talk with him about it," Derek interrupted.
Stiles groaned, wiping a hand down his face with an extravagant glare thrown Derek's way before he stood up and started toward the bathroom. "I'm still not awake enough for this. What are you going to do next, propose?"
"That's next on the to-do list," he called out after Stiles, grinning when Stiles tripped on his own feet and had to catch himself against the doorframe.
"YOU ARE HORRIBLE," Stiles shouted back before slamming the door.
It really was, though. They just needed to get the housing thing sorted first. Derek pulled a pillow over his face and grinned into it.
He couldn't wait to see Stiles' face when he brought up the subject with his father, and learned the real reason behind the 'guest cottage' Derek had added to the property.