Notes: So this is schmoopy enough to rot your teeth, but I could think of nothing else to write. Enjoy!
The ceiling fan is noisy, and it's only keeping Derek awake. Screw Sam and his insistence that the clicky-clangy-bangy noise is lulling.
Speaking of Sam. Sam's out like a light, all tangled up in the sheets, snoring softly (and drooling) against the pillow, mouth slackened and eyelids flickering the midst of a dream.
Sam's skin is warm beneath Derek's hand, Sam's hair grazing Derek's neck in just the slightest of touches, Sam's fingers clutched in the inches of sheets between their bodies, Sam's collarbone marked in red by Derek's bites. His Sam, no-one else's but his.
Speaking of Sam. Derek envies Sam right about now, wishes he could just turn off his mind and let sleep take him away, wishes he could chase away all his thoughts and fall off the damn earth if that's what it'd take to get some rest.
But sleep's not coming for him tonight, Derek knows. He presses his mouth to Sam's temple and wonders how the happiest fucking guy on the planet can be kept awake by a goddamn ceiling fan.
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