“Why do we have to do this?” Erica complains, elbowing Isaac in the head when the other werewolf rolls half on top of her.
Isaac's offended yelp comes almost in time with Stiles’ loud sigh. “Pack. Touching. Extremely important. To say it Derek’s style,” Stiles says, pats Isaac’s hand when it slides sneakily under the hem of his shirt, fingertips seeking body heat.
“Yes, but why?” she whines in response, tugging annoyingly at Isaac’s curly hair, the only thing she can reach since he’s shifted away from her abusing elbows.
But Isaac is kind of purring now, blunt nails pressing lightly against the thin skin covering Stiles’ hipbone, and not even Erica’s attempts to harass him seem to be enough to bring him out of his state of Nirvana. Bless him.
From where he is lying, head resting over Derek’s unfairly muscled abdomen, Stiles shares a resigned, one-eyed glance with Boyd. Please, give her a valid reason before I go impale myself on a toothbrush, Boyd faxes with his eyebrows to Stiles, slapping Erica’s perfectly manicured hand away when she shift her attention on him and tries to poke his left cheek.
And maybe Stiles should be impressed at least a little here, because it seems that Derek’s not only being the Yoda to Boyd’s wolf but also to his eyebrows and, just, how perfect is this? But instead he just rolls his eyes in response, before tilting his head on his side. “You are a horrible Alpha,” he tells to Derek’s closed eyes.
The corners of Derek’s lips tilt upwards in an almost invisible response. The asshole.
“Scott is bad touching me,” Isaac announces sleepily after a moment, his nose buried against the side of Stiles’ thigh.
Scott’s hands shoot both in the air in the span of a nanosecond. “I invoke the fifth amendment!” he cries out, red creeping up his neck as he darts a look from Stiles’ eyes to Isaac’s ass and back. Stiles’ think he must have done something really, really awful in one of his previous lives.
“Dude,” Boyd says, a note of amazement in his words, “how aren’t you already dead?”
“Scientists are at work to try and understand that,” Erica replies. Good to know that Scott’s public humiliation is an interesting enough topic for her to finally quit whining. “Besides, I don’t think Isaac minds to be groped,” she adds, a knowing smirk dancing on her plump lips.
“Uh,” Stiles gives his useful contribute to the conversation. At least he’d doing better than Scott, who can’t seem to bring himself to stop gaping or blinking like a deer caught in the headlights, either.
“I think it’s cute,” Isaac replies from his spot against Stiles’ thigh, his lips curling in a soft smile before he shoots a long, careful look to Scott.
“Cute,” Boyd repeats, as if that explains everything and nothing at once. Against him, Erica snorts and then kicks Scott on his ribs, sending him tumbling right on top of Isaac. Seriously, someone should teach that girl some manners, Derek is totally ruining her.
The gesture seems to be effective, though, because Isaac just uses his free arm to circle Scott’s waist and keep him pressed against his chest, which means, of course, that Scott’s nose is now drilling a hole into Stiles’ knee. How marvelous.
“I swear to God, one day I’m gonna murder you all in your sleep,” Stiles groans. There is no point into keeping his suffering inside since it would only, on his best luck, get him an ulcer, and Stiles is too young for that shit.
“We love you too,” Isaac mumbles in reply. From where he is Stiles can see his hand moving up and down what seems to be Scott’s belly, but he can’t be sure from his point of view and, thinking about that, he doesn’t even want to know.
A low, totally unthreatening grumble follows Isaac’s words, making Stiles’ head vibrate along with Derek’s body. And of course Mr. Alpha would choose this moment to stop pretending to be napping, couldn’t miss the occasion to let the Drama Queen living inside his very broad, very manly chest having some fun.
“In a total platonic way,” Isaac adds, mostly bored.
“Speak for yourself.”
“Erica,” Derek says, eyes still closed. One of his hands finds Stiles’ head, fingertips caressing Stiles’ scalp for a moment before sliding lower to cup his face.
It’s natural for Stiles to lean into the touch, relax as Derek’s heat seeps from his body to Stiles’, contentment and something much smoother filling him like an empty cup.
“A girl can still dream.”
But Erica’s muttered words are only white noise now for Stiles, Derek his only focus as the edges of Stiles’ universe shift and readjust, widening just enough to let Derek become the keynote of its complicated melody.
“As always, you’re late to the party,” Stiles chuckles, covers Derek’s hand with his as he shifts to land a kiss on Derek’s palm. But, when Derek opens his eyes, there is a moment when it feels like the air into Stiles’ lungs is too much, like he is gonna implode.
“Was busy chasing an old song,” Derek says, his green eyes shining with a light that only Stiles can fully comprehend.
“Here we go again,” Scott mutters.
Erica sighs in reply. “I just hope he won’t start dressing like fucking Gandalf.”
That earns her a snort from all of them, and a huffed laugh from Derek. “My precious,” he growls playfully with a strident undertone, his fingers caressing Stiles’ jaw.
“That’s Gollum,” Stiles corrects him, but doesn’t complain of the treatment he’s receiving, tilts instead his head back so Derek’s fingertips can slowly slide down his neck, lazily exploring small portions of pale skin. “It’s not even three in the afternoon,” he says after a while, noticing that everyone is being silent and that Derek’s bedroom is now filled with a calm, peaceful feel.
He shifts the tiniest bit, glances at the foot of the bed, where Erica is still curled against Boyd and Scott’s sockless feet are tucked in between her legs. Stiles knows that such thing would probably lead to instant murder if only Erica wasn’t asleep and kind of drooling all over Derek’s sheets by now but, after all, Scott has always been a shamelessly lucky guy.
From what concerns Boyd, he seems to be pretty happy with watching her drool and petting her hair into a terribly tangled mess. Pack’s affection manifests itself in the weirdest of ways, at times.
“Can’t really sleep,” Stiles tries to say, but the words don’t come out as clear as it should. Damn Derek and his perfectly refined ways to make Stiles’ defenses crumble, Stiles was perfectly happy with Erica whining like a four year old and Scott opening his metaphorical raincoat in front of Isaac in the faint hope of scaring- Uhm, impressing? Maybe both? After all, Scott’s dick is quite impressive. And scary too. More or less. Depends upon what one wants to do with it.
Not that Stiles wouldn’t want to do something with it, of course.
Still, the fact that Derek is using his abilities as a stealth-cuddler to lure Stiles into napping is absolutely unfair. Also, Stiles thinks he should tell him so. “Love your bed,” he instead says, because his brain is a traitor and the entire universe is conspiring against him.
Against him, under him, Derek’s voice is like a loving, quiet tide. “I know,” he says, his thumb gently pressing against Stiles’ temple. “Let go now, I wanna show you something.”
Eventually, lulled by Derek’s steady breathing, Stiles does let go and, when sleep finally comes, he dreams of greens and happiness, of discovery and bright days. And a big, white wolf that takes care of him like only a father would do.