For wannabesexlinhoechlin who encouraged me to write a Stiles-as-big-spoon fic.
“This isn’t working,” Stiles mumbles, his face half-pressed against his pillow, Derek’s heavy arm like a cage restricting his movement, and Stiles feels trapped. He’s at least seventy-two percent sure that he’s not supposed to feel claustrophobic and panicky because his maybe boyfriend has finally decided to sleep over after the mind-blowing sex that keeps occurring and has wrapped an arm around him, but here they are.
“Shut up,” Derek replies, sounding as frustrated as Stiles feels.
Stiles easily removes Derek’s arm from his torso and sits up in bed, staring down at Derek and his miserable frown. “I can’t sleep like that. I feel restricted. Can we try another way?” He is wary to even ask, worried that one wrong word and Derek will be diving out the second story window before Stiles can even apologize.
So, he’s expecting Derek to climb out of bed or to turn over onto his back, but in no way is he prepared for Derek to turn over on his side, pulling Stiles arm around him. Stiles reacts immediately, sliding back down the bed, hiding his left arm under Derek’s pillow, while his right palm settles against Derek’s abdomen.
The feeling of rightness that courses through him is a shock.
Stiles had always thought that if they ever got around to this cuddling thing Derek would be the big spoon. He is clearly the obvious pick—taller than Stiles, bulkier, and he has the whole big, bad alpha thing going for him. Maybe physically Derek is the obvious pick, but out of the two of them, Stiles is the one to grab onto the people he loves and hold them too tight. He is protective and tactile, and maybe if Derek had been with anyone else—as impossible as that is for Stiles to imagine—then maybe Derek would have been the cuddler rather than the cuddlee.
But Stiles gets to see Derek the way no one else does. Stiles gets to save him. Stiles gets to stand up to him and argue with him and kiss him. He gets to know the real Derek.
And the real Derek must want this—must need it—because minutes after they switch positions, Derek’s breath has evened out, his body lax, losing all the tension that he carries when he’s awake. Stiles presses a kiss to the back of Derek’s neck before resting his forehead between Derek’s shoulder blades right on the top spiral of his tattoo.