when the moon found the sun / when the sun found the moon

[triskeles]

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[hypercompetent]

That sounds like a plan, tiger. [ A long, obnoxious yawn escapes him, and Stiles shifts just a little, trying to reconcile that weird emptiness with more close contact--he slides his long limbs across Derek's shoulders, tucks his head into the crook of his neck and brings his knees up, sleepy and lazy and comfortable settled in Derek's lap.

He doesn't mind when Derek sticks his face in his neck either, considering, and just lets him inhale or do whatever weird thing he's going to do--the close personal contact is something he's had time to get used to, and now it just gets passed off as a Derekism. Stiles chuckles and flops a hand in an aborted gesture. ] I mean, if you're fine with sleeping like this, I totally am.

[triskeles]

[ Something soft and affectionate leaves him in a snort at the yawn, and Derek just lets Stiles move himself around and get comfortable. He practically bundles him up in his arms, lips brushing against marked and unmarked skin alike in silent contact. His limbs don't really want to do very much, but he still utilizes them, shifting up to his knees and holding Stiles steady. ]

I'm a mess. You're a mess. If you want to sleep like that, then hey. [ But he moves them just enough to drop into a seated position again actually amongst the sleeping furs instead of the tangle that they'd inadvertently devoted to the whole consummation aspect of tonight. The moment he's settled with his lapful of Stiles again, he nuzzles his nose into the hinge of his jaw and, yes, inhales. ]

[hypercompetent]

Your ass is a mess. [ He grins sleepily at his comeback that makes absolutely zero sense (especially considering the circumstances) and allows Derek to manhandle him accordingly. He's pretty much bundled up in Derek's arms even after they sit down, and for once in his life he's not going to complain about it--he just stretches his legs out a little and curls back in again.

Derek's snuffling at his jaw is even soothing at this point. Mumbling, he traces absent patterns against the skin of his shoulder, brown eyes fluttering. ] As the lupa I'm commanding you to take care of it. And 's your sssssssssspouse [ Popping the p. ], I'm commanding you to take care of me.

[triskeles]

[ He levels him a really? look with mostly his eyebrows contributing to the expression, but instead just settles with an armful of pliant lupa and cranes back a little to see if there's something around to clean them up. Thankfully, there is, because otherwise Derek would seriously say screw it and go to sleep right now. But he tugs the bowl over, lukewarm as it is now, and takes the damp cloth. ]

That's a lot of commanding. [ Still, he tucks his nose back against his jaw as he works on actually following said commanding, green and gold-flecked eyes half-shut as he goes. ]