Archive of Our Own ^beta

Derek doesn’t have any furniture in the loft besides a few mismatched pieces that Stiles was pretty convinced were just left by a previous tenant.

But what he does have is the most fucking luxurious shower Stiles has ever seen.

Jets and a rain head that came from the ceiling and fancy conditioner and body wash that smells like Derek and makes his heart race. He hasn’t showered in it, of course not. But he’s imagined it many times.

He imagines coming there after a long day and falling under the spray, Derek’s arms lashing around him and the heady Derek scented steam that would fill his lungs.

He imagines it so much that when he comes back to consciousness there he doesn’t think much of it. Derek is there, holding Stiles’ cheek firmly. The only thing out of place is that the water is far too cold, icy.

“Stiles! Stiles!”

Stiles flinches, instinctively trying to lift his head to hide it in Derek’s chest, away from the light.

His head feels too heavy, hard to move. He flexes his fingers and they’re knit into the wet clinging fabric of Derek’s shirt.

“Stiles, come back to me. Can’t lose you, come on-“

But that feels like his imagination. Derek in real life is seemingly indifferent to him so this must be a dream.

Stiles blinks, looking blearily at the neat row of expensive products lined up on the sill.

“Melissa’s on her way. Just stay with me, ok? I think you have a concussion or-“

Stiles manages to get his head up and kiss Derek silent.

“N’more talking. You’re ruining it,” Stiles says, and slides his lips along Derek’s cheek until he can rest his heavy head on Derek’s shoulder.

“Wh-what?”

Stiles hums, reveling in the warmth of Derek’s body. “Shhh.”

There’s a loud knocking from somewhere deep inside the loft and Stiles can faintly hear Melissa’s voice, low and calm, along with Scott’s more panicked tones.

“We’re talking about this later,” Derek says quietly.

“‘K. ‘S long as we can do it in the shower,” Stiles mumbles.