It might have been the watery hours before dawn, or it could have just been that the storm raging outside was keeping them suspended in that endless place between dreaming and awake. The long line of Stiles's back, lithe tense muscle littered with moles and freckles and marks from Derek's mouth, from his fingers, is curved and sloped over the bed beside him, Stiles's slow, sleeping breaths and his steady heartbeat soothing something knotted up in Derek's chest. It'd been a rough night, and Derek had barely kept himself under control. He'd scented and marked Stiles. Fucked him hard enough that he was honestly surprised he hadn't broken him. And Stiles had taken it, had held him as he'd trembled like an animal after, had cleaned them up and fallen asleep beside him, pliant and easy when Derek had needed to make sure he was whole in the middle of the night, mumbling as Derek had dragged him into a position he could curl up around and protect.

Derek slid down from where he'd propped himself against the headboard, smoothing careful fingers over Stiles's shoulders and watching the easy rise and fall of his breath. Derek loved the lines of Stiles's body. Now that he'd gotten to see them, smooth and solid and defined under the frumpy, concealing layers Stiles hid himself under, he hated watching Stiles while they were hidden again. Stiles sighed as he trailed his fingers over the slide from his ribs to his waist, and hummed sleepily as he kissed, slow and sweet over the marks he'd left, then over the marks permanently dotting Stiles's skin. He licked his freckles, nosing over the dip of his spine and planting soft, open-mouthed kisses over the end of Stiles's ribcage, nuzzling into his side as his lips got him there. Stiles grunted and moaned, stirring beneath him. Derek teased the sheet down, inch by inch, exposing Stiles's pale, private skin to the cool air of their bedroom, and kissing every sliver of it. Stiles moaned into the tiny corner of pillow he still had in the most uncomfortable position under his cheek, awake now. Derek parted his cheeks with his thumbs, licking over his bruised entrance in apology, almost taking Stiles's high whine as protest until Stiles went lax between his hands, shifting his head to try to look down at him.

"Derek…" Stiles breathed, a low moan slipping out of his throat as punctuation. His back curved deliciously as Derek continued to lick into him, slow and lazy. He'd be content to curl his hand between Stiles's legs and jerk him past the shuddering, sweat-sheened mess that rimming always brought him to, just so close to coming, but Stiles shook his head, narrowly missing his head as he tossed Derek the lube, Derek's tongue still in his ass and his hands on the backs of Stiles's thighs to keep him still. Derek worked his tongue back out with slow swipes over Stiles's prostate, watching him jolt and moan into the mattress with every pass of his tongue. "Please." Stiles moaned, voice muffled in soft cotton. Derek coated his fingers, sliding one in too easily even with the rimming, biting back being angry at himself for having fucked Stiles hard enough he was still so loose. Derek pushed in a second finger, pressing into Stiles's prostate and aching at his utterly broken moan. Stiles rode down on his fingers, his movements sloppy like his muscles had turned to jelly, and by the fourth, Stiles was begging.

Derek turned Stiles over, taking this as far away from that desperate, mounting rut of the night before, a little horrified that he'd hurt him. Stiles had marks dotting his front, too, and Derek whined, bending to mouth at them as he slipped inside. Stiles let out a completed gasp, his eyes slipping shut and his hand tangling in Derek's hair, grip firm but undemanding. Derek traced up the surprisingly thick lines of muscle over Stiles's arm until he'd reached his clasping fingers, disentangling them softly and weaving their hands together against the pillow. Stiles whimpered into his mouth, his body rolling down against Derek's in long, serpentine movements as his fingers fit through Derek's, "Don't go to work today." Derek groaned, begging really. Stiles giggled, kissing up his jaw and nuzzling into his cheek.

"It's Saturday, and a holiday weekend. I don't think that'll be a problem," Stiles chuckled, arching into Derek's slow and deep thrusts. They writhed together under the sheets, Stiles squeezing down on his hand as he tensed around Derek's cock and came, crying out softly. Derek fucked him through it slowly, until Stiles whimpered. He was about to pull out when Stiles stopped him, ", fuck...your cock's…" Stiles moaned, sliding down further, and Derek felt it, too.

"Stiles-" Derek choked out.

", no, no. I want it...I want your knot."

"How do you-?"

"I've been researching lycanthropy for how long now?" Stiles laughed, biting his lip as he slid down onto the knot, scraping his fingers over Derek's shoulder as he felt the stretch settle into him. Derek grunted as he came, filling Stiles up. Stiles relaxed, kissing him slow and sweet. "You only get a knot with your mate." Stiles chuckled, kissing along his collarbone, "You're stuck with me now."

"After five years being together and three years of marriage? Yeah, this is definitely the deciding factor that I'm stuck with you. Not, you know, the wedding rings and the complete devotion-" Stiles was looking far too innocent, and a thought struck. Not a thought Derek liked. "You were worried? That it wasn't you?"

Stiles met his eyes, still completely tangled up in Derek's body, their hands linked, their legs entwined, and he looked like he had in high school, vulnerable all over again. "I've never understood...why you picked me."

Derek stared down at him for a long time, until he started to fidget, but he refused to let go of him at all, even if he couldn't fully disengage. "You don't know why I'd pick you?" Derek slid his arms around Stiles, ducking his head against Stiles's neck and breathing the words, "You're one of the most infuriating people I've ever met. You never talk about what you should talk about, and when you finally crack and talk about what matters, you never pick the side of the argument I think you'll choose." They'd come a long way from the days when Derek would run from him, but it seemed like Stiles was the one that wanted to run from this conversation, "No, you're stuck here, with me, you get to listen." Derek pinned him down with his weight, his broader body, secure in the knowledge Stiles couldn't get out even if he wasn't pressed into the mattress, "You make me talk, you bait me until I break through half the walls I've put up, and you just jump over the other half, flailing your way through every nasty and awful piece of me and snorting like I'm insane for thinking one day you'll stop wanting to deal with it all. I was a dick to you. I hurt you. I hurt you last night-"

"You're not who you were, though. This," Stiles nodded, indicating how they were arranged, what they'd been doing, "proves that. Last month, even...if this had happened, you would have left before I even woke up, no matter how many times I tell you it's still good, that you can be rough. You kissed me awake this morning and you knotted me for the first time in the five years we've been together and the three we've been married. What does that tell you?" Derek's brows knit, and Stiles just smiled, knowing that he wouldn't say it, "You weren't ready, and you are now."

Derek snorted, "That sounds so fucking cheesy."

Stiles chuckled, wrapping his arms around Derek's shoulders while Derek buried his face in Stiles's chest, "We shall never speak of it again."

"Good!" Is muffled into Stiles's skin, and Stiles couldn't stop smiling under threat of death, laughing at Derek's contrariety.

"You're so romantic sometimes, and then it's like you remember you're a big tough man and you're not supposed to be romantic, and then you're back to being my romance-deficient husband." Stiles started babbling, grinning wide. Derek's head was up, his gaze sharp and accusing though his mouth was trying to pull into a smile, because he knew exactly what Stiles was doing.

"You know, I think the knot's gone down-"

Stiles started laughing outright, and the knot had not gone down, the laughter turning into a moan. Derek closed his eyes, laying his head down on Stiles's chest and shaking it slightly. "Yes, I'm ridiculous, but you love me."

"I don't know why." Derek half-laughed, half-moaned.

"Because I'm infuriating and challenging and I don't put up with your bullshit but I do put up with your baggage, and…" Stiles stopped, grinning, "And, also, I think you're enamoured of my ass."

"For the love of God…" Derek grumbled, "If this becomes a regular occurrence, you're either getting a muzzle or I'm going to stop fucking you into the mattress."

"I'd be alright with that option, but I have a love affair with your cock, so I don't really want to be topping every time." Stiles babbled, "I mean, really, when it comes down to it, the question 'do you want to marry me?' needs to be analyzed in the context of stupidly in love-which, yeah, that base was covered, so hard-could I picture our life together-we're going to die having sex, ancient and scary-looking when naked, and you'll be growling at me about watching my dentures then we'll go peacefully during or after orgasm, it'll be stuff of legend-and could I sleep with you and only you for the rest of my life. Your cock was a deciding factor in our nuptials."

Derek hid his face behind one long hand, shoulders shaking in helpless laughter or disbelieving tears, he honestly couldn't tell which.

"And the knot just helps cement it for me that my love of your dick will last until the day I die." Derek cracked, snorting into laughter. Stiles pet through his hair, giggling with him, the sound of Stiles trying to compose himself setting Derek off again until they were both completely relaxed on the bed, wound up together like they were meant to be. Derek kissed the very corner of Stiles's mouth, slipping from his body and soothing Stiles's lip into his mouth from where Stiles had bit it at the sensation of being empty. Derek slid out of bed, ignoring Stiles's attempts to get him to stay in favour of coffee and breakfast, honestly shocked that Stiles had managed to get a full conversation out of him before caffeine.

A storm raged outside, the clock showing eleven, and Stiles followed him to the kitchen a few minutes later wearing one of his oversized shirts and letting the hitch in his step show, humming as he pressed against Derek's front, tipping his head to the side for a soft, lazy kiss, taking his cup of coffee and plate and walking to the couch, tangling them together when Derek sat beside him, and leaning against his shoulder with a happy sigh as he flipped open the Asimov Derek had started reading him last time the power went out in a storm. The overhead lights became candles before long, and then Stiles blew the candles out not long after that, smiling into the unlimited stretch of what could be the watery hours before dawn, or what could be the two of them suspended, in love, in that place between dreaming and being awake.

A/N: In honour of my incredibly hot date for Tumblr Prom. You asked for it, this is what you get. Rimming, knotting, and lazy morning sex that lasts all day. (Who's living through fictional characters here? Not I, sir, not I...)