When Stiles wakes up he is almost completely wedged under her, his quickly numbing arms trapped beneath his body, and the heavy warmth of her leg flung across the back of his. Her arms are loosely wrapped around his neck, and he absurdly imagines that she is an exceedingly clingy backpack.
Stiles shifts his suddenly taut body under her lax one, yanking one arm free and groaning out loud at the feeling - sudden onset pins and needles, and the strangest feeling like gelatine sloshing around under his skin. Malia tightens her grip around his neck and for a second he can't breathe, extending one arm out as he extricates the other from what feels like deep within the mattress, patting jello hands at Malia's arms, and then her face when that doesn't work.
"Stiles?" Her voice creaks on the way out, confused and sleep thick. He holds his thumb up exuberantly, tugging pointedly at the arms cutting off his oxygen.
Her hands fly off so quickly that she propels herself backwards into the floor, butt first, thumping onto his carpet. Her feet are still wrapped around his ankles, and her head is now somewhere near his dresser. She makes a little oof sound, and Stiles wonders at her cuteness, even as he rubs his sore neck, and endures her freezing toes.
"That was quite a wake up call, thank you." He says, leaning over to hoist her back onto the bed by the armpits. Her body is completely loose, and she pouts up at him.
"I'm sorry." She says miserably.
"Hey, don't worry about it." He says into her temple, squeezing at her bare shoulders.
"I'd rather have a cute girl strangle me awake than be girl-less altogether." Malia smiles widely, relaxing easily back into his body, and he's struck - not for the first time - by how pliable she always is, like a cat with a physics defying spine. He would, of course, never liken her to a cat to her face.
She presses her face into his neck and he can sense that she's inhaling deeply, though he's past the point of finding the scent thing weird. He settles into the resealed bubble of stillness, yellow light streaming over them in wide panels, muted sounds of a whistling tea pot downstairs, the scraping of chairs. He runs his thumb up and down Malia's spine mindlessly, and sleep almost pulls him back under, but Malia's voice rouses him.
"Do we have to leave this bed today?" She whispers.
Stiles thumb stills at the base of her spine and a smile ghosts across his face.
"We could try to drag it to first period, but I don't think I have time to develop an elaborate enough pulley system…"
She presses a grin into his chest.
"… and call me crazy, but I think it would make lacrosse difficult. Plus you know Coach would have some choice words, he already thinks I'm a sexual fanatic." His eyes roll reflexively.
"Aren't you?" She teases, rolling easily over him so she's straddling his hips, holding his wrists loosely above his head.
That smile again, the breathless, disbelieving one, all wrapped up in impossible shyness for this shameless, naked, wild coyote girl.
That smile she had when he kissed her for the first time.
Stiles mock struggles against her bonds, opening his mouth to crack a joke about coyote strength, but her skin is soft on his, and she's biting her lip now, and he leans up to kiss her instead, pulling her lower lip between his and sucking just a little. Her hands flutter over his shoulders before landing on his biceps, squeezing a bit too hard as he takes and takes from her warm mouth.
She breaks a way after a minute, laughing breathlessly.
"I am not going to school like this," she declares. He glances down at her bare chest, fanning his fingers across her ribs.
"I sure hope not." He says, and there's laughter laced in every syllable. Malia looks down and frowns.
"No, I meant-"
"I know what you meant, Mal." He rolls her under him, and the way his sheets are twisted around her now, her honeyed hair splayed out over his pillows, triggers a surge of happiness in him, and he ignores the tickle of embarrassment at his uncharacteristic romanticism as he leans in to suck opened mouth kisses onto her neck and the hinge of her jaw.
She's gasping, and her fist is opening and closing in his hair and he wraps his arms all the way around her torso, so they overlap.
"Stiles, time to get up kiddo- " The sheriff calls through his door, knocking while opening to peer inside.
He almost falls back out of the room, and they can hear his exasperated grumble from their spot on the disaster zone of a bed, pillows strewn across the floor, comforter sagging down to join them, and Stiles and Malia, pressed firmly together in a tight twist of plaid sheets.
"For gods sake Stiles, I have asked you to tell me when you are having company. Particularly the overnight kind." He grits. Stiles extracts himself from the girl beneath him, patting her stomach with a grin on his way over to his boxers.
"Yeah, well, strangely I wasn't feeling the boy scout 'let's tell an adult!' vibe when I woke up to a girl in my bed." He calls into the hallway, where he can see his dad holding his hand over his eyes like a visor, grimacing.
"Well, strangely, I wasn't feeling the boy scout 'be prepared! … for your recently emotionally damaged fox possessed son to be having near constant relations with a were-coyote' vibe."
Stiles claps a hand on the door frame, now dressed in a t-shirt and boxers, smile hyper-cheery. His father startles, hand dropping from his forehead.
"On the plus side, I'm up!" He holds his hands up like he's expecting a high ten, and the sheriff's brow furrows, glances down near imperceptibly.
"I can see that." He says, and turns to trot back down the stairs.
"God, dad, could you not make boner jokes to your son? I'm up for school!"
"If you can be inappropriate, so can I!" His voice wafts up, and Stiles sighs.
Malia touches his back lightly, and he turns to see her scrunched face, brow furrowed in confusion.
"Does he not like me?" She asks, and Stiles rushes to reassure her, holding both her hands and shaking his head violently.
"No, no no, of course he likes you! He probably doesn't like seeing you naked in my bed every other week, is all." He explains. Malia glances down at her own body.
"Well. He's in the minority then."
Stiles barks out a startled laugh, and pulls her close to him, grinning down at her cocked eyebrows and quirked mouth.
"You are such a catch. Thank god we had ill-advised sex in an asylum basement." he jokes, and Malia's cheeks colour just a little.
"Yeah, that's never going to be a thing you're not gonna make fun of, is it?" She asks, her voice hard and sarcastic. Stiles shrugs.
"Probably not, to be honest."
They hear the front door rattle closed, and glance towards the still open window. Malia walks over and pokes her head out, smiling widely at the sheriff below.
"Have fun at work Sheriff Stilinski! Catch some were-things!" she calls.
Stiles hears a muffled thud as the sheriff no doubt hits his head on the car roof.
"Christ's sake Malia, could you not talk about were-things? And put on a shirt!" The engine sputters to life, and Stiles catches Malia by the waist, tugging her away from the window.
"You totally did that on purpose." He accuses, and she smiles so wide it's like she's baring her teeth.
"It's fun to shock people. Makes me feel like I'm in the wild again."
He rolls his eyes, and pushes her back into bed without warning. She yelps, as she bounces back on the mattress.
"I'll show you in the wild again." And she laughs helplessly as he climbs in on top of her.