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if the sun refused to shine (i would still be loving you)

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Stiles loves their bed a lot and not only because it's huge and sinfully comfortable.


The frame is made out of dark cherry wood and it's really sturdy, the mattress is just the right balance between soft and firm, the company is amazing as well. The sheer size of the bed meant that they had to enlist Peter to help drag it into their apartment, which then resulted in an  impromptu home decor 101 lesson that Stiles and Deucalion later promptly ignored.


That the bed stands in their bedroom in their apartment and that Stiles gets to go to bed with Deucalion every night and wake up touching at least a part of him every morning is something Stiles still can't get over even after a year of sharing it.


They picked it together, too.


He doesn’t however, enjoy waking up in it overheating under his werewolf boyfriend and the duvet, his stomach churning unpleasantly. It means he has to fight both of those in order to make the mad dash to the bathroom, fumbling with the toilet lid before last night’s supper comes out.


Deucalion is hot on his heels though, roused either by Stiles' flailing or the ruckus he made, his big hand a comforting pressure on Stiles' lower back. The smell and the sounds Stiles is making must be awful with his heightened senses, but he doesn't complain, just flushes the toilet once Stiles is done and then pulls him close, allowing him to rest for a moment against Deucalion's chest.


He even presses his lips to Stiles' forehead to check for a fever.


Stiles will appreciate it all later though, one he doesn't feel completely wrung out.


Right now he lets Deuc help him up and drag him over to the sink, holding Stiles up as he rinses his mouth and washes his teeth.


"Want to go back to bed?" he asks, "Get some sleep as I make you something light for breakfast?"


"You're so stupidly perfect," Stiles tells him making Deucalion laugh.

- -


They think it's just the flu for the first week. Deucalion spends it fondly exasperated even as he dotes on Stiles, making him tea and providing with light snacks, serving him as a warm pillow whenever he's home from work. He's already used to Stiles' octopus hugs.


After a week passes and drags into two, and Stiles still feels tired and his stomach makes him dread waking up in the morning, they both start to suspect it's something more than just a bug. They don't say it exactly, the possibility both exhilarating and terrifying, too much to say out loud, but their eyes meet in the bathroom mirror as Deucalion is helping Stiles get himself in order and that’s all they both need.


Stiles calls Melissa five minutes later making an appointment for the next day and making her swear to secrecy, while Deucalion contacts his secretary and arranges for a few days off from work.


“You’re awfully calm about all this,” Stiles comments a few hours later, on his tenth round around the apartment.


He’s worming a path in the floorboards with all the pacing he’s doing, opening or closing the living room window, rearranging the books on the shelf, considering getting a new bookcase because they’re running out of room which leads to wondering if they even have space for another one, which then leads to wondering if they need to move into a bigger place. And that spirals into thoughts of possible nurseries and baby proofing, and-- it gets out of control so he swiftly sits back down in front of his laptop to check his email again, open and close another twenty tabs, and click in and out of word documents after rearranging the words in the last sentence, again.


While all Deucalion is doing is alternate between watching Stiles trying not to freak out and working on his own computer. Though the intensity with which he focuses on either of those tasks might suggest that he’s not doing all that well either.


It doesn’t change the fact that his calm exterior makes Stiles want to shake him up a little bit.


Still, he lets Deuc pull him into his lap when he gets within reach of where Deucalion is spread on the couch, Deucalion’s laptop safely deposited on the nearby coffee table. Stiles sits sidesaddle on Deucalion’s thighs, leaning against his boyfriend and allowing Deucalion to cuddle him close. He can’t help but smile when Deucalion kisses the side of his nose.


“The only reason I’m not freaking out right now is because you’re doing plenty of it for the both of us, love,” Deucalion says, laughs when Stiles swats halfheartedly at his arm, “I’ll do my own share of it once you calm down, don’t worry. But that aside,” Deucalion prods Stiles a little until they’re more or less facing each other and regards him with a serious face, “regardless of how tomorrow goes is having children something you want? In general and with me? Because we’ve never really talked about it before.”


“I should ask you the same,” is Stiles’ immediate reply. He takes one of Deucalion’s hands in his, playing with the man’s fingers as he mulls over Deucalion’s questions. “I can’t say I ever put much thought into having kids, nothing more than brief ideas and such. And the notion that there might be one growing inside of me already is scary,” he tells Deucalion even as he presses their entwined hands against his stomach, “But I think-- I think I’d really love to have a family with you, if you want to have one with me, too.”


“I’d love to,” Deucalion confesses easily pulling Stiles close again, “Now or in the future. I want to share it all with you, for as long as you’ll have me.”

Stiles laughs, giddy and relieved. He hadn’t even realized how tense he was until now.


He presses a sweet kiss to the corner of Deucalion’s mouth.


“You’ll be stuck with me for a very long time then, Mr. Blackwood.”