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How to Melt an Alpha

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Stiles' love life takes an awesome change of direction all because Allison talks Scott into taking some parenting classes.  She's not even showing yet and she's already signed up for Lamaze classes and looking into a La Leche group.  But the cherry on top of it all is when she somehow – what is Stiles thinking, of course Scott would agree because he's wrapped around her pinky forever – talks her darling husband into taking a couples class that involves The Empathy Belly


All the men have to wear it for a week.  Stiles vaguely recalls a TV show using that thing as a torture device on teenaged couples.


It takes all of three days for Scott to crack and retreat from Allison's full-force preparation instincts.  Prior to that, Stiles had been enduring all manner of complaints from Scott via text.  They've been growing in level of bitchiness, today being around a seven out of ten, which is also when Scott flees right over to Derek and Stiles' apartment.  He sheds the horrid device like a snake the moment he's past the door, just dropping it on the ground.  Stiles blinks at the black mass while Scott groans and holds his lower back, bowing it inward.  "Oh my god Stiles, pregnancy is horrible.  Healing ability does nothing.  My back is frickin' killing me and my feet, oh god Stiles, my feet are swelling!"


Stiles doesn't bother to hide his snicker at Scott's misfortune and he picks up the Belly, testing the weight.  "How they talked you into actually agreeing to wear this thing in public is beyond me."


Scott has the world's largest pout going on right now as he shuffles over and sits on the couch in a huff.  "I don't even remember anymore. This week cannot end fast enough." His eyes go wide and he sits straighter. "Dude, don't tell her I took it off. Or that I was here. She thinks I'm getting groceries right now."


Stiles is busy finagling the Belly onto himself just to see what it's like.  Because he's a curious guy.  "Yeah, yeah. Your sordid little secret is safe with me, buddy."  He struggles with the straps briefly. 


Scott relaxes back with a punched out sigh. "Where's Derek?"


"Ironically? Getting groceries," Stiles answers with a growing grin. He walks around with his hands resting on the heavy distended gut of the device. "Dude, this is weird."


"It's torture is what it is," Scott whines. "How do women stand it for nine months?"


"Got me. I kinda have to pee I think…" Stiles stops and sways in place, squinting his eyes in indecision.


"Yeah, it does that. I've never had to pee so frequently in my life."  Stiles isn't going to point out that Scott has a bladder the size of a walnut.


Stiles decidedly goes to see how pissing with this thing on works, but snort-snickers on his way because he's totally waddling now.  He hears Scott shout something about stealing something to drink and Stiles just ignores it, because it's not like Scott wouldn't just because he said not to.  Stiles finds his way into the bathroom and yeah, reaching around the Belly is really strange and, frankly, it's almost easier to just sit down to piss. The emasculation is getting worse and worse, but it's still really, really intriguing.


He washes his hands and makes a trip to the bedroom, finds one of his older shirts that he bought two sizes too big and puts it on.  Stiles grins and goes to have a look in the mirror.  It's hilarious to him.  Especially the terrible, fake boobs.  They're not even squishy or fun to play with, they're just weighted.  Stiles is pretty sure he feels something kick in the Belly and he gives kudos to whatever sadist designed this thing.


The front door opens and closes; Derek's back.  Stiles can hear the faint tones of Scott and Derek talking from the kitchen, but he can't hear words specifically.  Not that Derek has improved much on word usage over the years.  Stiles waddles out with a cheeky expression, spotting Derek bent over putting things away in the fridge. 


Scott is back to being sprawled on the couch.  "Think I could leave that thing here while I make my store run?" he asks.


"Only if you want Allison to know," Stiles answers with no small amount of amusement. "Unless you go to Bob's."


Scott lets out a noise one might associate with a dying orca. "Bob's is on the other side of town…!"


"Not my problem, bro." Stiles leans against the counter because yeah, he can see where this thing is going to create a backache situation. Something drops to the floor and Stiles curiously looks at Derek. Who dropped what looks to be a container of cream cheese. And is staring at Stiles like he's become alien. But Stiles flashes that grin of his and wiggles his brows. "Hey."


Derek actually looks a little stunned and he's not really looking at Stiles' face. He's staring at the protruding gut underneath the shirt he's wearing. Stiles wonders if the moobs make it even weirder. "Stiles. What is that?"


Stiles grins. "The Empathy Belly.  Designed to make man feel the utter torment of pregnancy."


There's a soft thud from the couch; Scott must have been too lazy to stand up, so he just rolled off.  "Torment is the right word," Scott says, standing up. He makes a face when he rubs his back again. "Alright. I'm going to Bob's. Don't let Allison know if she asks, okay?"


Stiles faux-salutes. Once Scott leaves, he looks back at Derek, who is still staring at him. Stiles perks his brows in interest. "Seriously, what? Does it weird you out too much?"


Derek glances up from the belly, like snapping out of a daze, and quickly ducks his head when he turns back to the groceries. Stiles is pretty sure the tips of his ears are pink. "Take that thing off, Stiles…" he grumbles.


No. Oh no.  Stiles has been with Derek long enough to know when his beloved werewolf mate is hiding something he likes


Stiles' grin can only be described as shit-eating. "Nah, I wanna get the full affect, y'know?" he says, rubbing a hand over the rounded belly.


Derek scowls and doesn't say anything. Stiles is totally up for this game, the one where Derek tries to shut down and act like he doesn't know Stiles knows about something he likes. It's a terrible, frustrating, hilariously fun game.  It usually ends with sexy things.


And so the day goes.


Stiles is kind of going through hell, especially when the stupid thing starts making him feel like he has to pee every ten minutes, but it's worth it for all the times he catches Derek watching him when he pets over the belly. And waddle. Stiles definitely knows Derek is watching him when he has to get up and waddle to the bathroom. Derek hasn't looked this constipated in years and it takes all Stiles has to not laugh and just pounce him already, but he can wait. Stiles is the master here, and after Derek pointedly refuses to sit with him to watch TV – Derek always sits against him – Stiles gets up and goes off to their room. 


He digs out his laptop and consults good ol' Google, just to refresh himself on all the terrible things on there that have to do with werewolves and mating.  It's amazing how off a lot of the lore and mythos is, but well… it's the internet. It's hit or miss with this stuff.  But some things are really close to how things actually work, and Stiles is totally looking to delve into the kinky shit that's going to explode Derek's brain.


What he finds is gold.  He just needs his pawns to cooperate for Phase I of Operation Melt Derek's Mind plan to work.


Eventually Scott comes back from getting his groceries across town and Stiles forks over the belly.  Scott nearly weeps over it and that does get a smirk out of Derek.  Stiles waves goodbye to his waddling friend and notes the tension leaving Derek's posture now that The Empathy Belly is gone, how he finally starts to go back to his usual self.




Stiles maybe abuses the power of devoted-werewolf-that-loves-him and convinces Derek that he needs a milkshake.  Needs it like burning.


When Derek leaves – scowling again – Stiles dashes to the bedroom to put Phase II of Operation Melt Derek's Mind plan in motion.


It involves lube. Lots and lots of lube, like a waterfall of lube, up his ass. And stretching himself with his fingers.


Stiles has never felt so uncomfortable in his – well okay, maybe not his life, and definitely not because of prepping himself, but this is definitely on the Top 10 Things of Uncomfortable for him.  Mostly because once he puts his pants back on, he can feel so much of that slickness dripping back out, making him feel moist between his ass cheeks in a terrible kind of way.  Also, his dick is hard. But that can wait. He makes sure to promise his penis it will be worthwhile.


Stiles changes his shirt, too. He picks the one nice 'date' shirt with the V neck that he knows Derek likes, and often makes him stick extra close to Stiles when he's out in public in it.


It'd be more annoying if Stiles doesn't still marvel over why Derek feels like he needs to be protective, like Stiles is someone that could be stolen away.  As if anyone could compete with the work of art that is his mate.  Also, Stiles still has a hard time comprehending why Derek finds him hot.


Whoa, off track…


He hurries to the living room and drapes himself on the couch in a way he hopes is sexy, not just 1800s French whore.


He waits.


Derek returns soon enough and he looks disgruntled, even when Stiles rearranges himself again. Apparently the sexy pose isn't going to do the job here, because Derek just walks over and thrusts the styrofoam cup at him.


Stiles takes it with a smile, props himself up against the arm of the couch. He tucks his legs up some so Derek has room to sit. "Thanks." He has a sip and sighs; chocolate pie milkshake. "I love you. Allow me to compose a poem of your greatness."


Derek rolls his eyes and settles on the other end of the couch before he pauses, looking perplexed as he sniffs the air.


Stiles has to fight the grin that wants to break out on his face and instead wraps his lips around the straw again, sucking up more milkshake.


"Why do you smell like you just bathed in lube?" Derek asks, pinning him with a rather intense gaze. "And why did you change your shirt?"


Stiles blinks innocently. "Don't know what you're talking about."


It's a blatant lie and Derek knows it. Wouldn't even have to listen to his heartbeat to know. He can probably even smell his hormones pouring out, too, because Stiles is still semi-hard. "Stiles."


Stiles sets the milkshake aside. He sits up on his knees and crawls over, straddles Derek's lap. He smirks while he rests his arms on Derek's shoulders, enjoys how easily Derek just lets him do it, too.  Derek's hands automatically rest on his thighs and it's never going to stop being funny how it's automatic for Derek to lean in, to scent his neck.


Stiles glides his fingers through the short hairs at the nape of Derek's neck and tilts his head, offering up more skin for him to snuffle at. "You liked how I looked, didn't you?" Ah, and there goes Derek tensing some. "You liked seein' me pregnant. Admit it, c'mon. I saw your ears turn pink, Derek Hale."


That earns Stiles a nip, Derek's teeth blunt and very human still. But his grip tightens just a little and Derek lets out a throaty noise. He says something, but it's too muffled by his lips being pressed so close to Stiles' neck.


Stiles squirms, purposely pushing his ass down. "Yeah, that's what I thought," he gloats, grinning widely. His eyes flutter when Derek drags his tongue up one of the taut tendons in his neck, ends it with a sucking kiss there. "S'nothin' to be embarrassed over. I mean, I dig it. I'm a werewolf's mate plus I Google. Dudes being knocked up isn't even remotely new- oh…" Derek's hips roll up and yeah, Stiles was so right here; Derek's dick is hard and his dick is fully hard now, too. Friction is glorious. Stiles starts to breathe deeper, quicker, Derek is too, and his fingers curl tighter against Derek's hair. "And I get it, I do. Your instinct, I mean. To mate and make pups."


"Want one," Derek grits out, like he's embarrassed to admit it. He's sucking a hot path up Stiles' jaw and scraping his teeth there, too. His fingers slide up to grip Stiles' hips, hard, and he pulls him to meet the grinding motions of his own. "Want one with you."


The sudden lust hits Stiles like a punch to the gut. Jesus fuck, this is hot. "Yeah?" He's way too out of breath way too early in the game here. He's had time to build stamina, dammit, his balls shouldn't be aching already. "You gonna breed me? Fuck…!" There's a growl and the pinprick of claws threatening to tear his jeans.


Derek mouths at his neck with the slide of pointier teeth.  "Stiles…" He sounds pained, but Stiles knows it's a sexy kind of pained; he fucking loves when Derek wolfs out during sex.


His blood feels like it's boiling in his veins. Air is so much harder to take in. He didn't expect it to be this good. Stiles grips Derek's shirt and pulls at it with a whine because it needs to be off right goddamn now. "Come on, fuck, Derek--!" he gasps, leaning in to press his lips against Derek's ear. "I need you to breed me."


Things get dizzy for a moment and Stiles finds himself pressed down into the couch, Derek's snarl rattling into the marrow of his bones and straight to his dick.  Derek is on him, is kissing him rough and filthy, his hands everywhere like he doesn't know where to touch first. Stiles loves it like this, loves it when he can barely keep up with Derek's tongue and teeth on his mouth, when he can barely breathe.  He arches when Derek rucks his shirt up and goes from Stiles' neck to one of his nipples, sucking and rolling the bud between his flat front teeth. It makes Stiles spit out another curse and buck his hips, groping at Derek, trying to pull his clothes off.


Derek pulls away abruptly – Stiles whines in protest – and he makes short work of peeling Stiles out of his jeans.


He'll have to fix the button that popped off later…


Stiles gets a look at Derek's face and – oh fuck – he's shifted to beta form entirely.  "Christ, Derek…"


Derek presses a hand to Stiles' chest, keeps him pinned down so he can't move. Stiles usually plays a more proactive role in bed, but he's here to press all of Derek's buttons. Stiles squirms, lets his legs fall further apart and he tips his head back again, submitting.  All of it to drive the Alpha wild.  Derek might actually be openly panting right now, but he's not moving yet. He's still sitting back, his other hand falling to one of Stiles' knees.


The burn in those red eyes gives Stiles goosebumps; Derek rakes his gaze over him like he's figuring out where to start devouring him. He looks between Stiles' legs and looks surprised. He leans over to see better, reaches out and touches the inside of Stiles' thigh where it's slicked. "What—"


"I'm all ready for you," Stiles interrupts, throat feeling tight and dry, voice wrecked. His hips keep trying to buck up, cock seeking friction but finding only air. "Stretched 'n slick, like I'm in heat. And I think I might actually be, 'cause I really need your dick in my ass right--"


Derek growls and there might be a little fabric burn on Stiles' back later from how swiftly Derek just dragged him closer, manhandling him by his legs. But Stiles doesn't care. He'll heal. It's so worth it right now; Derek is always so careful with him during sex, even with their rowdier tumbles. He doesn't lose control, doesn't slip up at all. But Stiles is so sure that Derek doesn't mean to scratch his claws over his thighs as hard as he does. The sting and burn is enough to warrant a stifled sound. Stiles bites his lip to keep it in and the red welts raise up quickly, but he's already moved on. Derek is back to covering him, back to abusing the shit out of his neck.


He's never been afraid of Derek biting him hard enough to turn him.  But the way he clamps down on the crook of his neck, it spikes electrical adrenaline through his chest, makes him moan and whimper because it hurts so good.


"Going to fuck you full," Derek snarls against his skin, voice thick around long fangs. Stiles' skin burns from the bruise sucked there, from the moist, heated fan of Derek's breath. Derek is careless with his own jeans, he's pretty sure they'll have to throw the pair away because Stiles can hear fabric and thread ripping. "Going to make you swell with my pups…"


Jesus cherry-picking Christ.  Werewolf dirty talk is… is amazing.


Stiles moans openly when he feels Derek's cock slide heavy and slick against his own finally, Derek's grip on his hip bruising.  He doesn't mind; Stiles wears sex bruises like they're badges of honor.  "Fuck me, come on…"


Derek licks and nips and mouths his way up to Stiles' lips, kisses them until they're swollen and hurt and shiny with spit. Derek's other hand is—there are fingers just pushing into him and Stiles sucks in a breath over it. Not because it hurts, far from it, but because it's unexpected and he's a little worried about claws for a split-second; Derek doesn't have them on that hand. Not right now. Stiles is still fairly relaxed from his earlier preparations and the sound Derek makes him know just how pleased he is about it. It's downright subsonic, Stiles can feel the reverberations in Derek's chest.


"So fucking wet," Derek hisses, pulling his fingers out. "Your body was made for me, Stiles. Come here."


Stiles yelps softly when Derek is suddenly up off the couch and he's being pulled along too. Then flipped so he's on his hands and knees and – fuck yes, he loves this position. Stiles doesn't fight it at all, drops down onto his elbows, rests his forehead on his arms and pushes his hips up. Derek tugs him around until he's in the right position and there's no warning, just the blunt, sharp fill of his dick pushing in. Stiles shudders and drags in a ragged gasp, bears down as best he can because Derek isn't exactly small.


Derek practically howls. His hands are hot and heavy, like branding vices on Stiles' hips as he pulls them as he pushes in. "Fuck, fuck… Goddammit, Stiles…!"


Stiles curls his hands into fists as the pressure edges into more pain than pleasure, he knows this part, breathes through it until Derek bottoms out and his hips are against Stiles' ass. Sweat prickles at his skin and normally he'd have to wriggle to get Derek to move, but Derek's ahead of him this time; Derek draws almost entirely out before he bucks in and – "Motherfucker!"


Derek leans over Stiles, licks a scorching wet line up the back of his neck, bites at the juncture and holds on. Makes it pinch until Stiles is making a noise he hasn't heard himself let out before, all high-pitched and keening. Derek growls and rumbles and it's not at all human, it's too husky and thick and deep. He lets go finally and licks over the bruising area before sucking marks to the other side, all while fucking into Stiles.


Stiles is pretty sure he's going to have rug burn on his knees with how hard Derek's hammering into him. He doesn't care. He's too busy dealing with trying to remember to breathe. He's shivering and he might even be drooling a little bit because, if he closes his mouth, he'll pass out from lack of air.


"Listen to you," Derek purrs.


Stiles sounds like a wanton whore, and he still doesn't care.  Of the rare moments where he doesn't talk, sex – sex like this – is definitely one of those moments.


He feels Derek's hand slide from his hip down over the flat of his abdomen and Stiles wonders whose brain is sizzling into nothing more; Derek's or his own. He knows exactly why Derek is just rubbing his gut like this, sometimes rakes his claws over his skin with surprising gentleness. "Going to be so full," Derek growls, "you're gonna leak my come for days." He punctuates this promise with a slight change in angle, enough that his dick is dragging against Stiles' prostate with every thrust.


"Fuck yes…!" Stiles all but sobs, toes curling at the bright sparks shooting up his spine. Molten heat is pooling low in his gut, his dick aches with the need to come but he's not going to touch it. He can come just like this, will come just like this, right off of Derek's cock alone. Derek drags a fang over Stiles' skin and then he can feel it, can feel Derek's knot starting to swell. "Oh god…"


He loves Derek's knot. It wasn't easy to take at first, but now Stiles looks forward to the stretch and burn, the way it presses so perfectly against his prostate.


"You love it, don't you?" Derek drags pink scratches over Stiles' abdomen, grips his hip tight and keeps pulling him to meet every punishing thrust.


"Fuck yes I do," Stiles gasps, his voice so raw and wrecked he can barely recognize it. "Hurry up, I want it, please – I need…!"


Derek lets out a long, drawn out, almost agonized moan and there it goes, the swelling happening so rapidly the knot finally catches and holds all but a few thrusts more. Stiles is trembling like he's freezing but sweating like he's on fire, cries out when Derek grinds and the knot does happy-fun-yay things to his prostate. The catch in Derek's grunting breath and the painful grip of his fingers tells Stiles he's coming – whoever said you could feel it is a lying liar who lies – and it's the sheer thought that Derek is coming in him, is trying so hard to knock him up—


Stiles comes so hard, shouts so loudly he sees grey and knows he'll be rasping for the next day or two.


He can still feel Derek shuddering and keening, low and deep, by the time the waves of pleasure are starting to ebb. He starts to catch his breath some. He feels like he ran a marathon, is sweating like it too, but it's so worth it.


Stiles knows just how much of a load Derek shoots.  It's a werewolf thing, he's pretty sure. Derek is still coming a minute later and he's also pretty sure there's going to be a lot of cleanup to deal with, but that's alright.


Operation Melt Derek's Mind: Complete.


Derek finally sags against him and Stiles makes a noise. Derek wraps an arm around his waist and carefully maneuvers them both to lie on their sides on the floor.  By now, Stiles can feel the burn from the carpet on his elbows and knees, the burn of the couch fabric on his back, all the aches settling into his skin; bruises, scratches and bites. He grins though, entirely happy, especially when Derek wraps around him and snuffles at the back of his neck.


He pillows his head on a bent arm and grunts occasionally when Derek's hips shift, reminding Stiles and his prostate of the knotting issue.


Derek eventually sits up some and cranes his neck over Stiles' shoulder.  Stiles turns his head and meets him in a softer, sweeter kiss. He's all human now, no jutting sharp canines and no claws or extra fur. Derek rubs a hand over Stiles' gut, and he grins before breaking away from his lips. "So…" Derek lays back down behind him, pressing his face against Stiles' neck. Hiding. "We'll be doing this again sometime soon."  Derek huffs softly, amused and a little exasperated. A lot embarrassed. But it's an agreement. Stiles is ready to try napping a little, the knot doesn't usually go away for at least half an hour, but then he hears Derek mumble. Stiles elbows him some. "Didn't hear you. Share with the class."


Derek tightens his hold around Stiles' waist briefly. "You're not-… Aren't you-…" Oh, Derek is having a hard time using words again. Stiles can be patient. Derek sighs. "This isn't weird to you?"


Stiles snirks. "My whole life is weird, in case you haven't noticed. I'm mated to a werewolf and have life-threatening adventures at least twice a month. I fully expected the freakiness to follow me to bed.  I did just come my brains out a few minutes ago, you know, all because I knew you were tryin' to knock me up."


He really wishes he could see how red Derek's face is. Is it possible to hear someone blush? "… I do want kids someday."


"Me too." Stiles pets over Derek's arm. "Maybe like, adoption or surrogacy. Or maybe there's some really whacky spell that can make it so dudes can get knocked up." He grins and snickers. "Oh man, I gotta ask Deaton that one. The look on his face…"


Derek nuzzles at him more and makes a noise that's probably some kind of purr for a canine-based creature. Stiles likes that noise. "You'd…  You'd be open to that?"


"Why not?" Stiles shoots back. "I mean, I'm sure there'd be things to consider. Lack of childbearing hips and all that – maybe a C-section is how it'd go – but yeah.  I have a few requirements before kids even enter the consideration pool thou-- oh…" He cuts off on a softer exhale of air; Derek is rolling his hips more and Stiles is just past the over-sensitive state for it to feel nice.


"What requirements?" Derek asks. He presses small, soft kisses anywhere he can reach, is keeping the pace slow.  Unhurried, lazy. Loving.


Stiles' snark melts a little and his eyes flutter, his cock valiantly twitching, but he'll need a little more time before it can do anything. "Uhm…" He clears his throat, wets his lips. "Like, like maybe a house. Or better apartment.  I gotta be done with college, and supernatural shit's gotta be happening with less frequency…"


Derek pets over his chest and his hot fingertips rub over one of Stiles' nipples until he squirms more. "You'll graduate at the end of this year. I've seen houses not far from your dad's for sale…"


Stiles is back to feeling a little overwhelmed – in a good way – and yeah, his dick is on its way to hard again. Especially when Derek's evil hand leaves his nipple alone and wraps around his cock instead. "Got this all planned out, huh?" he asks, his laugh more of a soft set of gasps. His hips rock slightly and it pulls at the knot, but Derek just grinds and works his own hips until licks of fiery pleasure goes up Stiles' spine. "Were you ever gonna tell me?"


Derek hums softly, sucking gently at a spot under Stiles' ear. "In time. I want you to be ready."


"Soon." Stiles smiles more though his lips twitch into something pouty, his cock full and solid again. "Jesus. Assuming you don't kill me with sex before then."


"How many?" Derek asks almost shyly. The bastard doesn't sound affected by this second round of sexy fun at all.


"Wha'?" Stiles' intelligence is dwindling as the blood diverts back to his nether region again.


"Pups. Kids." Derek sucks at his earlobe, nibbles at it until Stiles' toes curl.


"Ngh," is his only response for a moment. He rallies what few brain cells are left to form something more coherent. "Two. S-start with two…"


Derek lets out a long, happy sigh, letting go of Stiles' earlobe so all that hot breath fans the dampness. "A house. With a big yard. The kids, they might not--… They could be human, or they could be werewolves. But a big yard to play in."


Stiles grins in a blissed out manner, his cock dribbling precome everywhere. How it's possible with his earlier orgasm, he's not even sure. "Yeah. An' we'll have the pack over for big dinners… Scott 'n Allison have a head start, but our kids'll all be besties."


Derek groans and presses a little harder against Stiles, which warrants a headier sound from his mate. "Holidays will be chaos."


Stiles laughs breathlessly and shudders when Derek jerks his cock so, so right. He's starting to feel that edge coming up again, that pressure building low in his spine. "Worth it. Halloween. Christmas. Easter. Dad's gonna love spoilin' 'em all rotten."


"He'll fill them with sugar and send them back home," Derek growls with a very, very fond tone, but it's getting breathy too. He's buried his nose against Stiles' neck again, taking long, deep inhales.


"Yeah, yeah he will." Stiles stutters over another breath. "Derek, god…"


Derek shudders behind him and the arm trapped under them squeezes through, wraps against Stiles' chest firmly. "Love you…"


He says it with such conviction, so much weight behind those words, Stiles feels the urge slam against him. He holds onto Derek's arm and whimpers through his second orgasm, coming over Derek's knuckles and the carpet.


Derek keeps moving through it, just for a bit longer. Then his knot swells marginally again and, with his own whimper, he's coming again, too.


Stiles might get a cramp lying here on the floor for much longer, but he just shifts his legs a little and settles back in. He's just never going to stop smiling. Not for a week at least. "Love you too, sourwolf."