AN: THIS IS DEDICATED TO MY BOO, YGGDRASIL'SROOTS. This is gonna be a series. I hope you like, babydoll.
Disclaimer: I own nothing except a hand cramp which hurts like a bitch. Owie.
EDIT: THIS STUPID LINE THING WON'T WORK I'M SO PISSED WHY WON'T YOU WORK ARGH.
Monday mornings went like this.
The alarm went off at 6am. Stiles hit the snooze button three times before Derek pushed him out of bed. Stiles fell out of bed and Derek sleepily grabbed his arm so he wouldn't hit his face against the floor. Stiles stumbled up and pressed a kiss to Derek's exposed skin and Derek retracted his arm under the covers. Stiles took a quick shower and by 6:30am he was downstairs, pouring the last bits of the previous day's coffee into a travel mug for work.
Derek couldn't stand the thought of drinking day old coffee. It was one of the few things they disagreed on. But Stiles didn't mind; he made a new pot of coffee to brew, so that it would be ready when Derek finally dragged himself out of bed, and grabbed his jacket from the hallway. He was on his way to the sheriff's department by 6:45am and he arrived at 7am.
Stiles called Derek around 9am, give or take a half an hour, to make sure he was awake. He never was, so Stiles got to listen to the man grumble sleepily into the phone as he struggled his way into a pair of socks and down to the first floor. The rest of Derek's body ran overly hot, like the terrible werewolves in Twilight, which always amused Stiles when he thought about it, but not his feet. Derek always had ice cold feet, which was why there was a drawer full of socks right by their bed.
Stiles listened to the sounds of Derek making a cup of coffee and smiled, because it never got old. Derek took his coffee with two and a half spoonfuls of sugar and just enough milk to turn it crayon colored tan. Stiles had always assumed Derek liked coffee as black as his soul, but out of the two of them Stiles was the only one who could stand the taste of black coffee.
"What's on the list of errands today," Derek asked, every Monday morning. Mondays were errand days. Derek worked from home, sitting his own hours, editing History text books for a company down in San Francisco.
"I don't know," Stile replied, "why don't you check the fridge?"
Stiles always grinned when he said this. On their fridge was a notepad, pink with a picture of a kitten wearing a bow, cutesy little paw prints littered around the lines on the pages. It had been Erica's addition to their home years ago when she had lived with Derek, a habit she instilled in them, writing things down on the notepad on the fridge. She had always bought some kind of super girly notepad for them to use, a tradition Stiles gleefully continued after she moved out to live with Boyd.
Derek grumbled about the notepad. He always grumbled about the notepad. He read the list of errands he had to run and Stiles listened with half an ear, mostly just enjoying the sound of the werewolves voice.
"Have fun running errands, sourwolf," Stiles said, once Derek was done grumbling and slurping his coffee.
"Have fun filling out paperwork, babe," Derek countered. "See you at lunchtime," he added.
Stiles did some work then. Actual deputy-like work wasn't as fun as he thought it would be as a kid, but he liked it. He could have done with less paper work, but at least the paper work kept him busy. He worked and drank coffee and listened to the other deputies gossip and mock argue until 12:30pm, where, like clockwork, Derek came to take him to lunch.
"Hey there, errand boy," Sheriff Daniels said. Stiles' dad retired a year after he joined the force, much to his annoyance. Mostly he sat around and went fishing and watched television and bothered Derek when Derek was supposed to be working. Derek didn't mind, though, which was the only reason Stiles didn't get onto his dad for it.
"Sir," Derek replied. He was wearing a plaid shirt over a white t-shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his arms. Stiles could see the edge of the notepad paper sticking out of his pocket and there was a ballpoint pen tucked behind Derek's left ear.
The other deputies made kissy faces at Stiles when he walked out with Derek, like they always did. Sometimes working at the sheriff's department was like working with a bunch of kids. All the older deputies were like the teachers, having been around long enough to remember arresting Derek Hale as a murder suspect. They therefore still watched Derek with a little bit of wariness, but the younger deputies didn't have the image of Derek in handcuffs in the back of their minds. They teased Stiles about his relationship constantly, which was equal parts annoying and nice.
Stiles and Derek had lunch at the diner three blocks over, which they walked to, no matter what the weather was like. They sat in the corner booth on the left side of the building and a high school dropout by the name of Sarah took their orders.
"Don't you two get bored eating the same thing week in and week out," she said, hip cocked to the left, pen tapping against their table.
"Nope," they answered together. Sarah rolled her eyes at them, just like she did every week, and brought them the two orders of curly fries and burgers, one without tomatoes and the other with onions and ketchup only. The diner's cook had started to make their order ten minutes before they arrived, because in all the time that Derek and Stiles had been coming to the diner they had never ordered anything different.
Derek walked Stiles back to work, leaving him with a brief kiss to return to the house. Stiles spent the next four hours at work mostly bored, occasionally driving around in patrol, but usually just doodling things in the corner of his paperwork. But Stiles packed up and left work around 5pm, which meant he spent thirty minutes stuck in the traffic caused by every single person in Beacon Hills trying to get the hell home.
"Honey, I'm home," Stiles called out to the house. He dropped his jacket on the back of one of the kitchen chairs and dropped his travel mug in the sink. The pot of coffee was mostly demolished, but the dishes that had been in the sink were washed and stacked haphazardly in the drying rack. Derek never had mastered the talent of stacking things so they didn't appear like they were going to fall over at any minute. There was the faint sound of jazz floating through the house, as there always was when Derek was working, and Stiles followed it back through the house and to the study.
"Hey there," he said, leaning against the doorframe. Derek glanced up at him, glasses perched on the end of his nose, and shot him a grin a over the top of his battered, sticker covered laptop.
"Hey," Derek replied.
"What's cooking, good looking," Stiles said. Derek laughed at him, saving and closing out whatever he had been working on. Stiles wandered from the doorway over to Derek's desk, hoisting himself up to sit on the corner of the messy work space. Derek, for all his talk, was kind of a disorganized worker. Derek leaned forward, dropping his hands on Stiles hips while Stiles pressed their foreheads together.
"We could make lasagna," Derek proposed, hands sliding down his hips and onto his legs. Stiles hummed in the back of his throat, bringing his hands up to tangle in Derek's hair. They breathed each other in for a moment, both relaxing in the other's presence.
"That sounds good," Stiles said. "Do we have anything good to watch on TV tonight?"
"Sleepy Hollow at nine," Derek answered. He ducked his head down and kissed Stiles' jaw and neck, rubbing his stubble against his skin. Stiles shivered and then pressed his mouth into Derek's hair. It was supposed to be a kiss, but he was grinning too much to make his lips cooperate.
"That sounds good," Stiles said, just before he ducked down and pressed his mouth against Derek's. Derek hummed his agreement against Stiles mouth, hands clenching on Stiles' thighs.
Their dinner didn't started until 8:30pm. Stiles wasn't much of a help in the kitchen, but Derek had assured Stiles early on in their relationship that he didn't mind Stiles sitting on the counter and babbling at him while he cooked. So that's what Stiles did; he perched on the counter opposite Derek's workspace and told him about his day, about the three middle school kids they found vandalizing the back of a building and the way one of them started crying when they pulled up. Derek laughed, coming over to crowd Stiles against the cupboards behind him when the lasagna was finally in the oven. He pressed their mouths together and Stiles wrapped his legs around Derek's hips easily, arms coming up to wrap around his shoulders.
"Sleepy Hollow starts in three minutes," Stiles muttered against Derek's mouth.
"It's set up to tape," Derek reminded them.
They almost let the lasagna burn. They watched television while they ate, curled up into one another with bowls balanced in their laps. They sped through all the commercials, elbowing each other for the remote. Stiles accidentally knocked Derek's empty bowl to the ground, but Derek purposefully knocked Stiles' empty bowl to the ground. They missed the last ten minutes of the show fooling around and had to rewind the recording and watch it again.
"You got more work to do," Stiles asked, face pressed against Derek's neck.
"Nothing I can't finish tomorrow," he replied. Stiles pumped his fist in the air in victory, which made Derek laugh, hands coming up to cover his face.
"I don't know why I love you," Derek told him, eyes crinkling at the corner.
"Liar," Stiles told him. "You've got a list in your sock drawer." He fisted his hands in Derek's shirt and proceeded to haul him up and off the couch. Derek staggered after him, grinning all the way, only to press him up against the wall at the top of the landing, barely five feet from the door to their bedroom.
"Are we having wall sex," Stiles asking, giggling as he pressed kisses against Derek's neck before lunging to bite softly at his ear.
"You're impossible," Derek responded, before he pressed him against the wall and kissed his laughter away. They fell asleep curled into one another, covers already mostly kicked away, sweaty and sated.
"Garfield can kiss my ass," Stiles muttered against Derek's skin. The words were slurred with sleep, but Derek understood just fine.
"Yeah," Derek agreed, already starting to nod off. "Mondays are good days."