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head full of dreams

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Stiles had, for as long as he could remember, always had vibrant dreams. Brilliant colors, somatosensory integration, and vividly real scenarios would pull him in as soon as he fell asleep. The dreams had been intense even before the nogitsune; after, they had maintained their intensity but added a level of darkness that even werewolves, kanimas, and terrifying old men hadn’t brought about.

He dreamt of anything and everything.

He dreamt of Derek.

Not at first, he didn’t. For some reason, Derek hadn’t entered Stiles’ dreams until months after they’d met. Usually, any impression or strong emotion from life would drag itself into dreamland, making Stiles debate between real and not-real memory sensations. Derek hadn’t been like that.

No, Derek hadn’t appeared to Stiles until after Boyd died, and even then the dreams were softer than most and infrequent.

The first time Stiles dreamt of Derek naked was after Derek had achieved the full shift, after Derek had died and come back again. It hadn’t even been a sex dream. It was simply Derek, naked, before he shifted and ran away.

Stiles wasn’t sure what he had expected when he began his pre-FBI program. Part of him had thought his dreams would shift away from the supernatural and back toward an evil that was purely human. Another part of him had expected to simply see new faces in and among the old. No part of him had guessed that he would see video of a manhunt for Derek, or that the footage would wind up in his dreams as Stiles rescuing Derek; to show Stiles finally being the one with the power to step in and change a destiny.

And he really hadn’t expected to see himself rescuing Derek before falling into bed with him. It had made the actual saving significantly more awkward than it might otherwise have been.

Even after Derek was out of danger -- at least that particular danger -- Stiles had continued to dream of different ways that he and Derek might run into one another, all ending in the most vanilla sex Stiles’ brain had managed to show him since he’d lost his virginity. The dreams became less soft and more colorful as they became more and more frequent. Two months back into his program after saving Beacon Hills and they were almost nightly.

The dreams then added an element of quiet, of he and Derek simply laying together, after. It was the most peaceful Stiles had ever felt while dreaming. It was comfortable, quiet, and warm. The lightness it invoked tended to follow Stiles around well into his days.

Stiles supposed it was only fair, really, when he woke up one morning actually in Derek’s bed. In his bed for a few seconds, at least, before he flailed himself out of it and onto the floor.

Stiles managed, “Oh Jesus shit--” before he startled himself into fully trapping himself in soft sheets and rolling with them onto awkward, scratchy carpet. His brain was just starting to form words -- Derek, sleeping, and naked among them -- when the mattress creaked and Stiles froze.

Derek propped himself over the edge of the bed, holding himself up with one arm, chest bare and intermittently colored in light that was slipping between the blinds on the other side of the room. His eyebrows pulled together and he asked, “Stiles?”

“Probably,” said Stiles, knowing he looked like an idiot, tangled in the sheet and staring.

Derek breathed what was probably a laugh, if the slight wrinkles at his eyes meant anything. “What are you doing?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you,” Stiles grumbled. He twitched his shoulders, trying to get at least one arm free, but failed.He probably looked like a worm on a hook.

“So you didn’t intend to sneak into my bed and steal my sheets?” Derek asked. He was definitely amused, which was better than what Stiles had been expecting since he’d flailed himself out of bed.

Stiles shook his head. “I went to bed in my dorm and woke up here.”

Derek’s gaze flickered from Stiles to a clock ticking quietly away on the wall. “Fun,” Derek said. He looked back down at Stiles. “It’s two in the morning. Can we talk about this in the morning?”

“Sure?” Stiles hazarded.

“I just went to bed a couple hours ago.” Derek shrugged the shoulder not tensed to hold himself upright.

“Me, too,” Stiles said. “I think. As long as we’re still in my time zone.”

Derek reached an arm down and tugged at an edge of the sheet Stiles hadn’t seen, which effectively rolled Stiles free. After Derek pulled the sheet back onto the bed, he reached his arm down again. “Back to sleep?” he asked.

Stiles blinked, then said, “You know? Sure. Back to sleep.” He went easily when Derek tugged him back onto the bed. Before he could make a comment, Derek said,

“Goodnight, Stiles.”

Stiles fell asleep with Derek’s hand on his hip. There was no darkness in the dreams that followed.