Archive of Our Own ^beta

Its happens without either of them realizing it. 
One moment they’re curled up reading on either end of the couch, listening to a mix of relaxing music that Peter puts on whenever Stiles has to read something which requires his full attention. The next Stiles is on other end of the couch, pillowing his head on Peter’s stomach with the older man’s legs on either side of him, their feet tangling together at the opposite end beneath a throw pillow. Peter is balancing his book on one hand, and idly scratching Stiles’ head with the other.
"Wasn’t I reading?"
"Yes, and then you set your book down and crawled over here. You looked like you needed a break."
"Tea?"
"Please."
"How much more do you have to do?"
Stiles yawns, and nuzzles into Peter’s stupidly soft v-neck even though he knows the man has to get up.
"A black tea amount of work."
Peter shoves Stiles off of him without another word, and he’s not too gentle about it. But when Stiles groans his upset, he captures his lips for a moment before getting up and heading to the kitchen. Its been months and even with the exhaustion of studying and supernatural baddies, and the familiarity of Peter’s mouth on his own, it still doesn’t fail to make his mouth tingle like a spark’s been ignited every single time. 
Peter returns shortly with a cup of tea that is not black.
"This isn’t caffeine," Stiles glares, "This is the opposite of caffeine,"
"You need your rest. Don’t think I haven’t noticed."
"I sleep just fine."
Peter glares at him over the steaming mug.
"You’ve been up till 4am almost every night."
"Kate Argent is a werejaguar."
"And running on no sleep is supposed to solve this matter how exactly?" 
"I don’t know. But I hope you’re sharpening your claws while I lie awake at night."
Peter huffs a small smile that isn’t much, its the barest upturn of his devious mouth, but its the most honest one he has. 
"And has all of these late hours worked to develop any sort of plan?"
Stiles expression grows dark, his eyes downcast into the murky depths of his tea. He takes a long, heady sip, ignoring the way Peter’s eyes track the bob of his throat as he does. He ignores the way Peter’s eyes grow dark with something that has nothing to do with killing when he stares straight into them with his answer.
"I think you should rip her head off and send it to Gerard Argent in a pretty box, decorated with leopard print wrapping paper, and a really shiny bow. Then you put a note on the box that says ‘We’re now one step a head of you.’"
Peter snorts, and it makes Stiles smile. 
"The note is a nice touch."
Stiles then proceeds to list off headless puns which Peter does not find to be funny in the least, he does not, even as nuzzles under Peter’s chin where his warm skin is showcased by his stupid v-neck. If Stiles minds Peter using his back as a book rest, he doesn’t say anything by it.