Living Organism (First Snow)

Stiles was just beginning to slip off to a dream about red hoods and big bad wolves when he heard his bedroom window slide open. A chill swept over him from the open window as he sat up in bed and looked towards the intruder. He reached down to pick up and aluminum baseball bat and slowly crept out of bed and over to the window. He raised the bat over his head and was about to bring down its wrath upon the figure's head, when it raised a hand up and gripped the end of the bat, rendering it immovable.

Stiles opened his mouth to yell (not scream, contrary to popular belief) for his father, when the second hand clamped over his mouth and a familiar voice hissed, "It's me, you idiot. Who else would be breaking and entering at 3 AM?"

"Uh, Scott?" Stiles tried to say, but his words were muffled by Derek's hand and sounded more like "Uhf, Scutt?"

Derek sighed and removed his hand from Stiles's mouth. Stiles grinned at him as he clambered through the window and asked, "So what're you doing here anyway?"

"First snowfall tonight." Derek answered as if it was the simplest idea in the world. When Stiles gave him a go on look, he continued on, exasperatedly. "My house doesn't exactly have a fully functioning roof. Gets pretty chilly in the winter."

"Don't werewolves have that whole supernatural heat thing going on, though?"

Derek gave him a look that said "really?" as he sat in Stiles's computer chair and kicked his feet up onto his desk. "We're part human, too. We can't just... what's your term? 'Wolf out'? Yeah, we can't just wolf out for seasons at a time."

Stiles's eyes were slightly wider than usual when he asked with utter interest, "Why not?" Derek growled and Stiles took a step back before proceeding to sit on the edge of the bed. "Fine, fine, no more questions." And with that he lay back and promptly fell asleep.

--

Stiles awoke an hour later to the feeling of a warm body pressed against his back and arms encircling him in an embrace. In his tired haze, he snuggled into the hug, thinking that it was Lydia from the dream he was just having. He grumbled something and reached over to grab his phone from his bedside table to see what time it was, and was startled by the reflection in its screen. Shit, it was Derek Fucking Hale. In Stiles's bed. Cuddling shit up.

"This is not Derek Fucking Hale in my bed," Stiles said aloud, quickly regretting it when Derek's eyes slid open and immediately narrowed in distaste at the sight of Stiles. "Uh, hey there, sleepy head?" Stiles tried, wincing at the term "sleepy head".

Derek growled and said, annoyed, "I wasn't sleeping."

Stiles stared at him before slowly asking, "And so you were manhandling me because... why exactly?" A growl from Derek caused Stiles to hold in a giggle. He stood up out of bed and began to walk to the door, but turned around when he remembered that he had an (uninvited) guest in his room and he just couldn't be rude to the nice man and asked, "Do you want some hot chocolate?"

"What?"

"I'm going to go make myself some hot chocolate. Do you want some?" Stiles received only a blank stare from Derek. "I'll take your brooding silence as a yes, then."

To Stiles's surprise, Derek stood and walked towards him, nodding his head towards the door. When Stiles remained still, Derek opened the door and walked into the hallway, quickly followed by a scrambling Stiles who gripped onto his sleeve as an attempt to stop him in his tracks.

"You can't come with me!" he stage-whispered. "If my dad wakes up and sees an ex-murder convict making hot chocolate with his under-aged son in the kitchen, there's a very small chance that he's going to just brush it off and get his whiskey!"