Title: Cold as Hell

Word of the day: Hiemal (adjective) - of or relating to winter; wintry

...

Stiles shivered and glowered over at Derek, who was sleeping soundly, the fucker. He had the ability to fall asleep anywhere and at a moment's notice. As such, he was blissfully unaware of the freezing conditions Stiles was being forced to suffer through because someone had decided that a road trip to the most hiemal place on the godforsaken earth was required. They were halfway through the road trip, apparently, and Stiles had to admit that it had been nice up until this point - mostly because he got to sing Spice Girls and ABBA at the top of his lungs and Derek pretended not to judge him for it - but tonight was cold enough to make Stiles want to turn the fuck around. If it was this cold here, imagine what it would be like when they reached their actual destination?!

Of course, Stiles knew the argument wouldn't hold up in the light of day; they'd be sleeping together when they got there and not be stuck in individual single beds like tonight. Derek had refused to push the hotel beds together to create something they could both sleep in because Stiles always seemed to manage to get stuck or fall through the gap between the beds, and neither one wanted to wake up to the sensation or screams of Stiles again. Stiles had reluctantly agreed to keep the beds separate, then promptly claimed the bed by the window.

He was regretting that decision now, with the hotel's thin curtain doing sweet fuck all to block the freezing weather against the window pane at his back. Stiles stretched his leg across the gap between their beds and tried to nudge Derek with his toe. If he was going to freeze to death, he wanted Derek to know why. He failed to reach Derek and then flailed right off the edge of the bed.

"Ow. Fuck. Ow. Jesus fucking Christ, my ass."

"What's the matter?" Derek asked sleepily, not even bothering to open his eyes to see what mortal peril Stiles could be facing at this very moment.

"I'm cold."

"Get back in bed then," Derek said, rolling over and snuggling beneath his blanket without a care in this freezing post-apocalyptic world.

Okay, so the world hadn't ended yet, but it was getting there in a goddamn handbasket; who knew Hell would be cold as balls?!

"I was in bed, I was still cold. You got the bed with the good blanket," Stiles said, standing and rubbing his sore ass with a wince. It was going to bruise, he just knew it.

"You wanted the bed by the window."

"I want your bed now. Swap with me?"

Derek snorted. "Fuck no."

Stiles' eyes narrowed and he glared. "Fine, see if I care when I freeze to death and wake up dead."

Derek might not be willing to swap beds with him, but he wouldn't be able to stop Stiles if he snatched the blanket while he was asleep, right?

Derek yawned and shifted, holding his blanket tighter like he could hear Stiles' thoughts. "You can't wake up if you're dead; we argued about this last week, remember?"

"Fine, then you'll wake up and I'll be dead. It's too early in the morning for logic, Derek."

Stiles received another snort in response. He shifted on his bare feet, wishing he'd kept his socks on even though he hated sleeping with his socks on because he always seemed to lose his left sock to the bed sheets somewhere in the middle of the night.

"It's too early for this conversation. C'mere," Derek said, reaching out from under his blanket and tugging on Stiles' hand until he was beside the bed. "Get in before I change my mind."

"Yes! I love you," Stiles quipped, clambering into the bed and snuggling up to Derek's warm body, barely any room for his body but he didn't care. "Ooh, you're warm."

"Jesus fucking Christ, you're a popsicle! Get out. I changed my mind," Derek said, nudging Stiles backwards.

"No! Ah, you fucker," Stiles groaned from the floor.

His ass was definitely going to be bruised tomorrow.

"You said you love me, no take backsies," Derek called.

"My love for you has no correlation to you being a fucker."

There was a long moment of silence and Derek snickered as realisation hit Stiles and he facepalmed.

"Why does everyone think I'm the immature one? You've got the guttered mind of a twelve year old," Stiles muttered, standing again and climbing into his own bed reluctantly.

"Sixteen year old, thank you very much."

"That's, like, one year in male maturity years."

"Shut up and go to sleep. I'm driving tomorrow."

"I thought you didn't want to drive?"

"Driver picks the music."

"If you put Beethoven on again, I'm throwing myself out of the car."

Derek laughed, the sound muffled against his pillow. "No complaints for Chopin or Mozart, then?"

"Shut up and go to sleep, fucker," Stiles muttered. Shivering under his blanket, he tried to tuck it over his shoulders and huddle down further. There was a sound of movement across from him and Stiles peeked out from the blanket, hope rising in his chest that maybe Derek was going to join him or give him his blanket, after all.

His hopes were utterly flattened when he was hit in the face with a hoodie and flannel shirt instead.

Derek snickered at his expression, and curled up under his warm blanket, facing Stiles properly. "I love you, too," he said with a wide yawn, eyes slipping closed.

Stiles couldn't help but melt at the words - it had taken Derek forever and a damn day to say them to him, and he treasured the words every time. "I know," he said, grinning.

Derek's snores were his only response. Stiles rolled his eyes, sat up to quickly tug the hoodie and flannel on, then made a strategic retreat back under his meagre blanket to go to sleep. Tomorrow night he'd be checking the blankets before claiming a bed, that's for fucking sure.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it.