The nightmare is familiar. Loud explosion, flames everywhere, people screaming. Jordan’s eyes flash open as he wakes quickly. The smell of burning flesh is still flooding his senses, and his skin feels like it’s on fire. It takes him a moment to come back to himself, the memory slowly fading away as he sucks in several deep breaths and stares at his ceiling. The scent of home and his lover soon replace the lingering aroma from his bad dream. Beside him, Stiles murmurs in his sleep, talking gibberish in a language Jordan’s sure he doesn’t even speak. The best time for memories to invade is during a deep sleep, after all, and he knows there are still things lingering in Stiles’ mind from his possession, leftovers that will likely never completely go away.
A glance at the bright blue numbers on the clock tell him it’s half past two in the morning. Too early to be this awake, but Jordan knows there isn’t any point in trying to go back to sleep immediately after this particular nightmare. The bottle of water he put on the bedside table earlier is empty, guzzled down after very sweaty, and incredibly amazing, sex with Stiles. Jordan had spent nearly two hours driving him crazy, making him come multiple times by the end. It’s one of his favorite ways to spend the evening, in all honesty, and it normally means a peaceful night’s sleep for both of them.
When Stiles rolls over, unwrapping his tight grip on Jordan’s chest, he moves the sheet aside so he can feel the cooler air against his heated skin. Stiles makes a snuffling noise beside him, burying his face against his pillow, continuing to murmur quietly as he dreams, his breathing even and labored. No nightmares for him, at least. Jordan watches him sleep, thankful for the vision that lets him make out more than just a dark shape in the unlit room. There aren’t a whole lot of perks to being a hellhound, but the vision and scent aspects are certainly beneficial. Now if he could get a concrete answer as to whether he’s even alive or not, it’d be nice. It’s been over a year and half since he found out what he is, though, so he doubts they’ll ever get a clear answer to that question.
With his thoughts going in a direction that isn’t going to help him relax, Jordan carefully rolls out of bed. Stiles needs his sleep, and he doesn’t want to wake him up. He knows how strenuous the police academy is even if he was lucky enough to be able to bypass it himself. Well, not exactly lucky since his bypass involved his years in the Army, which possibly resulted in his death and subsequent possession by a hellhound, but thinking about the logistics for too long just gives him a headache. So he tries to avoid dwelling on how the supernatural world even works most of the time. Jordan figures it’s the best way to stay sane in a crazy world.
Once he’s sure that Stiles isn’t going to wake up, Jordan stands up and grabs a pair of boxer-briefs off the floor. He’s pretty sure they’re actually Stiles’ underwear, since he vaguely recalls throwing his own towards the dresser. Fortunately, they’re about the same size, even if Jordan’s a couple of inches taller and more muscular, so they often get underwear mixed up since they’ve started living together. Well, mostly living together because Stiles still has a room at his dad’s house, but he hasn’t actually used it in months.
Out of respect for the sheriff, who has been a mentor and paternal figure for Jordan, he’s waiting to make things official with Stiles until he finishes the academy and is no longer technically a teenager. That means another year of dating and sharing living space before he plans to propose, but Jordan knows it’s worth the wait. His feelings for Stiles are serious, and he wants a life with him. It might have caught him off-guard at first when he realized he was starting to focus on Stiles way more than a casual acquaintance should, but he’s never been a man to avoid dealing with his feelings. He might not have planned to fall in love with the sheriff’s son, especially someone seven years younger, but it happened, and he’s never regretted following his heart by asking Stiles out following his eighteenth birthday.
After opening the bedroom door, he takes another quick look at the bed to make sure Stiles is still sleeping. Then he walks down the hall to the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing a cold bottle of water. Since he’s too awake to go back to sleep yet, he wanders into the living room and turns on the lamp, casting the couch in a faint glow that isn’t bright enough to risk waking Stiles. He moves the pillows out from behind him and puts them between him and the arm of the couch, resting his side against them as he focuses on his phone.
First, Jordan checks his email, answering a couple of different messages from people in his former unit who are way better at keeping in touch than he is, deleting a lot of spam, and sending off a quick note to Lydia to check on how things are down in San Francisco. Their flirtation never became anything more than a deep friendship, and he likes being able to talk to her about Stiles without getting judged for being a hopeless romantic. While she probably thinks the same thing, she at least listens when he rambles at her. The rest of their pack just humors him but doesn’t really pay any attention, and Stiles actually calls him a romantic sap, but in an affectionate way that lets Jordan know he likes seeing that side of him.
When he thinks about it, he’s not sure why they fit together so damn well. Stiles is incredibly smart. He’s a ball of energy a lot of the time, passionate about anything that catches his interest, talking with his hands and so animated it’s fascinating to watch. Not to mention the sarcastic cynical side or the slightly ruthless protective side that show up a lot more now than they did when Jordan first met him during the midst of the whole ancient fox spirit possession thing. Jordan isn’t cynical and he’s more of an observer than a talker, but they balance each other in a way that just clicks both in the bedroom and out of it.
It doesn’t take that long to email, so he ends up opening one of the games on his phone. He starts playing, sipping water in between rounds, losing himself in the visual stimulation as the aftereffects of his nightmare continue to fade away. When he hears footsteps on the wood floor, he pauses his game, glancing at the time on his phone. It’s after four, which surprises him. Damn. He hadn’t intended to be up this long. It’s only a couple of hours until they have to get up to get ready for work and training classes.
The footsteps get closer. Jordan looks up and sees Stiles yawning as he stumbles into the living room. He’s wearing Jordan’s sweatpants, his hair mussed, and he looks so beautiful that Jordan can’t help but stare. It’s time like this that he wonders if this is just a dream or maybe even heaven because there’s something so special about Stiles yet no one seemed to realize it and snatch him up. Their loss is his gain, of course.
“Bed was cold,” Stiles murmurs sleepily, wiping the back of his hand over his eyes as he blinks at Jordan. “Why’re you up?”
“Nightmare.” Jordan puts his phone down and shifts on the couch so he’s lying on it, back against the pillows. He pats the cushion between his legs and smiles. “Come on over here, pretty boy.”
“’m not pretty. You’re pretty.” Stiles walks over to the couch and crawls up between Jordan’s legs. “Hate nightmares. Should have woken me up.”
“You need the sleep, Stiles. You’ve got your test tomorrow, and I woke up before it got too bad,” Jordan reminds him gently, pulling him against his chest. He just takes a moment to enjoy the feel of Stiles in his arms before he begins stroking his hair. “I was on my phone and lost track of time. I didn’t intend to stay up this long.”
“Should have woken me. Gonna ace my test tomorrow. Would rather snuggle you than sleep.” Stiles yawns before nuzzling Jordan’s neck. “You’re comfier than my pillow.”
“Are you suggesting that my chest is getting fluffy and soft?” Jordan grins before brushing a kiss against Stiles’ forehead. “Or that you need me around or you can’t sleep?”
“Mmm. No.” Stiles pats Jordan’s pecs. “Nice and firm. Love your muscles. Do need you, though. Sleep better with you.” He moves his head, placing a sloppy kiss against Jordan’s collarbone before resting his cheek against his chest. His fingers brush against Jordan’s lower abdomen as Stiles fingers the elastic of the boxer-briefs he’s wearing. “You’re wearing my underwear. Couldn’t find them. Had to wear your sweatpants.”
“I like you in my clothes. They make you smell even more like me,” he admits softly, rubbing his fingertips against Stiles’ scalp.
“Possessive puppy,” Stiles says, moving his hand to rest on Jordan’s hip as his eyelids flutter shut. “Just don’t pee on me. Not into that stuff.”
“Neither of us are into watersports, Stiles, so you’re safe. And don’t call me a puppy,” Jordan murmurs, smiling as he brushes his fingers through Stiles’ hair. “You want to go back to bed?”
“Nah. Comfy here.” Stiles sighs contentedly. “Like you in my clothes, too. Or naked. Preferably naked.”
Jordan huffs a laugh, reaching up behind him to turn off the lamp. “I’m still not going to let you implement a clothes free rule for our house,” he teases, wrapping his arm around Stiles and shifting slightly against the pillows behind him. “Go back to sleep. We’ll have pancakes in the morning, alright? I’ll make blueberry ones.”
“You spoil me too much,” Stiles murmurs, his words getting huskier and lower. “Don’t deserve you, Jordan.”
“Don’t start that nonsense.” Jordan kisses Stiles’ head. “You deserve the world, but all I can give you is myself.”
“You are my world.” Stiles kisses his collarbone again as Jordan tightens his grip on him. “Don’t need anything but you.”
“I love you,” Jordan whispers, closing his eyes and listening to Stiles’ breathing even out as he falls asleep. “So much.” The sound of Stiles’ heartbeat and steady breathing soon lures him back into a nightmare free sleep.