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Stiles has a list. It’s a very comprehensive list. It might actually be more like a spreadsheet. But these things are necessary when you go to IKEA. If you go in without a plan, you come out with a hundred things you didn’t need and none you did: That’s just how IKEA works. You gotta take your precautions.
Oh, don’t get him wrong: Stiles is under no illusions he and Derek won’t leave with at least a few things they don’t need. But armed with his list-slash-spreadsheet, they’re much more likely to also get the things they do need. Which is a lot.
The pack finally talked Derek into buying a house a couple months ago. The loft had potential, sure, they can all agree on that. And maybe Derek can get the whole building renovated and become the world’s first fair and maybe even competent landlord. But the loft itself has seen too much shit. Too many terrible things have happened to Derek and the pack in that building for any of them to be happy with Derek still living there, so they’d all pestered him about it until he caved and moved.
The new place is nice: There were a few things that needed fixing, but it’s in a nicer part of town, edging up to the Preserve without being in the forest proper. There are neighbors but they’re not close enough to bother the wolves and their sensitive senses, and the house is big enough for the whole pack, with a garden for barbeques and football and whatever else you’re supposed to use gardens for. Only Derek actually lives in the new house, but Isaac has his own room for when he’s in town, and there are enough spare rooms for everyone to have a place to crash whenever they want or need it.
Which they would probably take advantage of more often if there was anything in the house.
Okay, Stiles is actually there fairly often, but that’s just so Derek won’t feel all alone in his new big empty house, you know? Right.
But seriously. Derek has a bed in his own room, a couple in the guest rooms, and the kitchen and bathrooms are functional, but apart from that the house is almost as empty as the loft had been. Sparse furniture, basically no knick-knacks of any kind. There’s not even a coffee maker! Though, Derek does have a kettle, one of those you put on the stove, and there’s always nice instant coffee somewhere in the kitchen, Stiles will give him that.
And, Stiles gets it, okay, they all do. Derek has been living more or less on the run since the death of his family. He lost everything in the fire, then left everything behind in New York, and then probably didn’t see the point in buying new stuff again if he was just going to leave it behind again. One way or another.
But that’s still just kind of really sad.
So, Stiles has made it his mission to get Derek to buy stuff, to make his house a home, to put down some actual roots, yadayada.
He’d gone through the entire house, methodically moving from room to room, making lists of things Derek had and things he needed. Derek had grumbled about the invasion of privacy and Stiles being annoying and how none of this was actually necessary, but Stiles doesn’t think he actually minded much.
After, Stiles had sat down with IKEA’s website and a map of the closest one, and he’d planned. The list is sorted after which rooms the things belong in and has three categories: Things they are not leaving without, things that would be nice but can wait if they don’t like the options presented, and things that could be nice, so they should keep an eye out, but aren’t actually necessary.
Obviously, Derek has the right to veto anything and everything – it’s his house after all – but Stiles isn’t actually telling him that, or he would totally abuse the power.
Derek doesn’t particularly like IKEA.
It’s not that he can’t see the appeal: Everything you need under one roof, it’s very organized, and most things you can buy there fall into that sweet spot of decent quality and decent price. And those inspiration rooms or even entire tiny apartments, Derek can appreciate those too. It’s just everything else that’s the problem.
There are a lot of people, for one. That’s probably, at least in part, because Stiles dragged him here in December, when everybody and their mother are out looking for Christmas presents, or extra chairs and crockery when they realize they don’t have enough for all the guests they’ve invited for the holidays. Derek suspects there’s just always a lot of people in IKEA, though. Some of them honestly might be stuck in here, he wouldn’t be surprised.
A lot of people also means a lot of noise and smells. He and Stiles have been there long enough now that Derek has mostly gotten used to it, but he still feels like if he tried, he would be able to smell every single person who’s ever been to this IKEA, which, as we’ve established, is a lot of people.
All this to say, if it had been up to Derek, he would’ve just ordered everything online. But Stiles had asked (insisted) and Derek should savor the limited time he has before Stiles realizes Derek would do anything Stiles asked of him. Even drive hours in the snow for a daytrip to IKEA.
“Oh, dude, you need, like, a hundred of these.” Stiles says, ignoring Derek’s ‘don’t call me dude’. “Look, it’s called Bästis, what do you think that means? It sounds kinda like beast, right? Oh, or maybe bestie? Like these things are gonna be your best friends.” Stiles holds up two of the lint rollers. Derek is giving him his patented ‘you’re an idiot, Stiles’ look while typing something on his phone – presumably to try to prove Stiles wrong, somehow, as that seems to be what Derek uses any kind of search engine for, ever. And how’s that going for you, huh, Mr. I’m-right? Case in point:
“Bästis does actually translate to friend, or bestie.”
“Hah! See, I speak Swedish.” Stiles crows, instead of gloating about getting Derek to say a word like ‘bestie’. It’s an art-form, okay, and Stiles is the pioneer.
“You do not speak Swedish because you guessed one word that’s very similar to the English word.”
“I totally speak Swedish, you’re just jealous.”
“Not jealous, as there’s nothing to be jealous of. And I don’t need lint rollers, I don’t have a pet.”
“Dude, you definitely need lint rollers. You shed.” Derek might be comfortable with wolf-hair everywhere from his furry, full-shifted self, but Stiles is not, so he ignores Derek’s token protest and tosses a handful of lint rollers into their cart, and about a dozen refills.
Okay, so maybe Stiles spends more time at Derek’s new house than he’d first admitted, despite the lack of things. Enough that people not in-the-know about weres ask him if he has any pets, on account of his clothes being covered in ‘dog-hair’. What can he say, it’s a nice place. And Derek is very soft and surprisingly cuddly in his wolf form. Which doesn’t really help with the shedding-all-over-Stiles’-clothes-thing but getting to pet wolf-Derek and fall asleep with him on the couch is definitely worth buying a bunch of lint rollers. Even if he’ll probably use these up in less than a month. Are there more sustainable, reusable alternatives that actually works? He’ll have to look into it. Invent some, if there isn’t; maybe that’d earn him some good karma for once.
“What’re you looking at?” Stiles asks.
“Couches.” Derek answers.
“Mm. You wanna replace the one you have or…?” Stiles wants him to, Derek knows. The couch he brough from the loft is comfortable, but a little ratty and kind of small. Not big enough for the whole pack. Derek wants a new couch, or maybe two, for the living room, so they can all be there at the same time without anyone having to sit on the floor or on chairs from the dining table. Not that the whole pack really shows up all together very often, but they might, if there was space for them to sit comfortably.
“Yeah,” is all Derek says.
“Good idea. You were thinking of these modular ones?”
Derek nods. “Figure it’d be good. They look comfortable enough, and we could fix the modules together as one or two couches as we want, or easily move them to the side if we need the floor space.”
“Oh yeah, good point. I mean, with werewolf strength you could probably lift a normal couch just fine, too, but these are handier. I think you can fit them together as you want too, so you can make like. Regular couches, or one big platform for wolf-piles. So long as you get pieces from the same series, or whatever. Which were you thinking?”
“Not sure. The Söderhamn ones look like they’re more… customizable than the others, but the Grönlid looks sturdier.”
“Sturdy is good; you know your betas like to playfight.” They’re not technically Derek’s betas anymore, as he’s not an alpha, but Stiles gets this sad look on his face and his scent turns sour like he’s hurting whenever Derek corrects him on it, so he’s mostly stopped doing that. “The Grönlid is more comfortable too, I think.” Stiles says from where he’s sitting in the Grönlid couch they have on display now, after having tried the Söderhamn first. “Come try.”
It really is very comfortable. Maybe a little too deep to lean against the backrest while keeping your feet on the ground, but most of them prefer to sit with their legs up on the couch anyway, and they can always buy extra pillows. And if he wants to curl up on the couch in his wolf form (which he does, sometimes, when Stiles is there, because Stiles gives the best ear scratches, but don’t tell him that) the extra space will be good.
“Good right?” Stiles asks with a grin. “What color do you want? And do you want leather or fabric? I think this one comes with both.”
“Fabric’s more comfortable.” Derek says, without opening his eyes. When did he close them? Huh.
“The leather might be easier to clean though.” Stiles counters, so Derek leans over to grab the tag attached to the couch they’re on and look at the specifications.
“Says there’s three different fabrics to choose from, each in a couple colors. This one is… Ljungen in light green.” Derek reads. “Not sure I like the color, but the fabric is supposedly pretty tough. Ten-year warranty and tested to last up to 45.000 cycles in the washer.”
“It’s washable? Like, in a machine?”
“Yeah, the covers unzip, I think.”
“Ooh, nice.” Stiles says as he starts feeling up the couch, presumably in a quest to find the zipper. “Aha! Here it is! Okay, so this one is washable, practical, and comfortable. Good choice all around. Except, you said you weren’t sure about the color?”
“Not really. But I think it comes in two different grays too, with the same fabric.”
“Okay. Let’s hunt for some fabric samples then! Don’t they usually have little scraps of the different fabrics somewhere?” Stiles is up and looking around before he’s even finished the first sentence while Derek takes another moment to just sit. He’s glad Stiles seems to be letting him choose the ‘non-color’ option, as he calls it, without fuss this time, thought to be fair this ‘light green’ isn’t actually very colorful either.
After another couple seconds, Derek gets up to follow Stiles where he’s still talking about colors and fabrics and which modules they should get and how many pieces and should they get extra armrests too and— “Ooh, there’s a drawing program thing where we can design our couches! Ah, it looks like you can do it from home too, on their website, if you’d like that better? We’ll have to get it all delivered anyway, so maybe now that we know which couch we want and have tried it and everything we can look at this at home and order what you decide later? Ah, but you should maybe choose a color now, it might look different on a screen.”
“I think the light gray. Or, they call it mid gray.” Derek says, taking the samples from Stiles when he holds them out to him. “Wait, the dark gray is a different fabric. The Ljungen fabric is in… light green, mid gray, and red.” The green is still kind of boring; the gray is nice, but actually, so is the red one. Even if Stiles didn’t complain before, when Derek said gray, he’s at least a little right when he does – Derek does have a lot of gray and black and brown in his house. And the fabric is an earthy red, it would add some color without standing out too much from the rest.
The smile he gets when he holds up the red sample is worth it, in any case.
“Oh, look! Djungelskog!” Stiles exclaims, and Derek wonders – as he does at least a couple time every day – whether Stiles isn’t some sort of supernatural creature. Even with his werewolf senses, Derek is barely able to track Stiles as he abandons their cart to look at something big and brown in a bin further ahead. It’s a bear, Derek realizes when he grabs their cart and follows; a giant sad-looking bear plush.
“No.” Derek says firmly when he sees the look on Stiles’ face.
“Aww, but it’s so soft! And look at it, have you ever seen a bear so sad? It’s practically begging you to take it home.”
“No.”
Stiles holds the plush up in front of him – it really is big, about half the height of Stiles and twice as wide – and puts his own sad face next to the bear’s.
They take the bear with them; Derek figures he can put it in Isaac’s room and just pretend it isn’t there. Then Isaac can deal with it next time he’s home.
They’re almost to the check-out, cart nearly overflowing, when the announcement comes.
“Attention all shoppers,” a voice says over the crackly PA speakers. “This is the store manager speaking. The wind has picked up and snow is coming down pretty hard now; the National Weather Service has advised everybody in the area to shelter in place. Doesn’t look like it’s gonna let up anytime soon, so we ask all shoppers to continue your shopping calmly, but do not leave the building when you’ve gone through check-out. We’re working on contacting local weather services to hear how long they think the storm will last, but it’s likely we’ll all have to stay here until tomorrow. More information will follow as soon as we’ve got it.”
There’s a strange hush over the store for a couple seconds after the announcement ends, then the jaunty Christmas music starts up again and people begin talking all at once.
“Uhm.” Stiles says. “So, we’re stuck in IKEA overnight? Did I get that right? Or are we gonna give it a go, getting home?”
“I’m not driving the three hours back to Beacon Hills in a snowstorm, not in the Jeep.”
“Hey! I will not tolerate that kind of talk about Roscoe!”
Derek raises an eyebrow to say ‘what kind of talk’ – he didn’t actually say anything, after all, and also, riling Stiles up like this is one of his favorite pastimes.
“You implied!” Stiles counters, reading the eyebrow just as Derek knew he would. “You implied Roscoe couldn’t handle it, as if she hasn’t gotten us through much worse than a little snow.”
“Sounds like more than ‘a little’.”
“That’s irrelevant.” Stiles says with a dismissive handwave and launches into a lengthy spiel about Roscoe and all her virtues, somehow still finding new points to extol despite it not being anywhere near the first time they’ve had this discussion.
They’ve been in IKEA for hours now, and it’s close enough to closing time that the crowds have thinned considerably, but Derek is still feeling a little overwhelmed with all the confusion and panic going on around them. It helps, to focus on Stiles prattling on about his car, instead of listening to the calls being made all around them.
Derek isn’t happy with the situation himself. He’s not too proud to admit – at least to himself – that he doesn’t do too well with crowds, abrupt changes to the plan, or not knowing enough about what’s happening to actually make a plan. All of which applies to the current situation.
But the IKEA in Sacramento is hardly the worst place he’s slept if it comes to that. And it very well might: Derek, with his werewolf reflexes, healing, and higher body temperature, might be able to make the trek back to Beacon Hills, depending on how bad the snow actually is. But he is genuinely worried the Jeep wouldn’t survive – they only picked the Jeep over the Camaro because, as Stiles pointed out, it has more space for all the stuff they’re going to buy – and even more worried that Stiles wouldn’t make it unscathed. Though, if the storm is bad enough that even locals are advised to stay where they are, Derek is probably better off staying too, even if he’d been on his own with a less battered car.
“Oh man, those are fantastic!” Stiles interrupts both his own monologue and Derek’s thoughts, and nearly knocks over an elderly couple with the cart when he turns abruptly to look at something across the aisle. “Hah, look, they’re called Bästis too!”
The couple grumbles good-naturedly and Derek sends an apologetic grimace their way as he follows Stiles to see what he’s found now.
When Derek steps up behind Stiles to look over his shoulder, Stiles holds up what appears to be a plastic… dog? Well, the hind legs and tail of a dog, anyway.
“They’re clothes hooks. You mount them on the wall and hang your clothes on the tail.” Stiles explains. “They’re adorable. Which do you prefer, the white or blue?”
“They’re beige and turquoise. And neither. I’m not buying dog-shaped coat hangers.”
“Oh, come on, Sourwolf, where’s your sense of humor? I know you have one, even if it’s weird and deeply buried behind all the scowling and eyebrows.”
Stiles turns his head to look at him, and Derek is suddenly acutely aware of how close they’re standing. He doesn’t want to move away, though, and Stiles doesn’t seem to mind. Derek’s just being considerate and not blocking the whole aisle, that’s all.
Derek orders his face into some semblance of a scowl and lets his beta-shift through just enough to really emphasize is eyebrows (without making them disappear) and is rewarded with a laugh from Stiles, who leans back against him just slightly before moving away to rifle through the coat hooks.
“How about we compromise and buy the black ones?”
“How is that a compromise? I don’t want any of them.”
“Exactly, and I want the blue ones – sorry, turquoise – so we get the black ones and everybody’s happy! You get funny, adorable coat hooks and they’ll fit your broody, boring color scheme.”
“It’s interesting, how you phrase it as a win-win for me, when you’re the one getting your way.” Derek comments and lets out a slightly exaggerated sigh when Stiles takes it as permission to add a dozen of the hooks to their cart. All of them black, except one.
“What?” Stiles asks, faux innocent, at Derek’s questioning scowl and holds up the one turquoise hook. “This one will be mine.”
“Of course.”
When they finally get through to the check-out, they’re told to go wait with the other shoppers who are stuck in the store while the last few people pay for their things. After another 15-20 minutes, a guy who claims to be the store manager shows up to tell them that the meteorologists they’ve spoken to don’t think the storm will let up until late that night or early tomorrow. People can leave if they really want to, but it’s strongly suggested that they don’t. Anyone who chooses to stay will be provided dinner in the bistro on the second floor and can have their pick of the beds in the display area for the night.
Needless to say, Stiles is thrilled.
“Oh man, this is great! Who hasn’t dreamt of getting to spend a night in IKEA? And we get free food! C’mon, McFrownyface, cheer up! This is cool!”
Derek doesn’t agree, but Stiles is already off after the IKEA staff member who’s showing them where they can store their purchases until tomorrow, so they don’t have to drag it all along with them.
Don’t get him wrong, it’s a great thing IKEA is doing, letting them all stay, and feeding them no less. Derek is just a little tired from being in a strange place with strange people for hours already and is not really looking forward to spending a sleepless night on a sub-par bed in a room with fifty strangers. And Stiles.
Stiles is maybe a little more excited about all this than is really necessary. Or appropriate. It’s just, they’re stuck, yes, but they’re stuck in IKEA. And they don’t actually have to do anything; there’s no supernatural mystery to be solved, no paranormal deaths to prevent. All they can do is wait out the storm, and they get to do it in IKEA which basically the ideal place to be snowed in, as far as Stiles is concerned. They got free, tasty food, watched a couple cheesy Christmas movies on a projector someone found, while drinking hot chocolate and eating Swedish cinnamon ‘bullar’, and now they get to choose their own IKEA bed to spend the night in. What’s not to love?
Stiles called his dad and snapped Scott, and Derek let his betas know what happened too. So no one is worrying about them (more than usual, anyway) and overall, the night has been fun.
“C’mon,” Stiles says, grabbing Derek’s hand. “I wanna see if anyone took that room with all the plants yet.”
Okay, maybe a part (a big part, but shh) of Stiles’ excitement about this whole snowed-in-business is because he’s snowed in with Derek. And fifty other people, true, but mostly Derek. They do spend a lot more time together, just the two of them, these days; especially since Derek bought the house and Stiles started finding more excuses to come over – to help sand and waterproof the porch, to try out the new kitchen, to hold stuff for Derek while he fixed whatever it was in the upstairs bathroom. It’s been a while since Stiles needed an excuse though. Now, more often than not, he just brings his laptop and some books to camp out on Derek’s comfortable but oh so ugly couch, and Derek lets him.
But they don’t actually spend a lot of time alone together outside Derek’s place, unless they’re dealing with one crisis or another. And this, with the food and the movies and the spending the night together; this almost feels like a date. Isn’t that a thing, actually, couple’s trip to IKEA? In any case, getting to spend the whole day (and night!) with Derek, without anyone dying, is nice. Amazing, really. Marvelous.
“Yes! What do you say, Der? Will this do for the night?” Stiles gestures grandly at the display room he’s chosen, thankfully free of other people. The room is kept in dark browns and black, with pops of color from all the plants (fake, he’s sure) overflowing their planters, and warm light from the exposed lightbulbs. It’s maybe a little dark for Stiles’ own taste, but the plants are nice, and it was one of the few rooms Derek actually walked into when they came through this way earlier. Taking up most of the space in the tiny room is a queen size mattress with black sheets, placed on a platform (with drawers? Nice) tall enough for there to be steps at the foot. That’s one of those things that’s nice in theory, having your bed so high up off the ground, but Stiles is sure most people would regret that setup the first time they come home bone-tired from hunting malicious nixies half the night and have to climb up into their bed.
Derek, because he’s Derek and because he’s been around not-pack people for far too long today, just grunts and sits on the steps to take off his shoes. Choice in bed for the night approved, then. Go Stiles.
The thing is, Derek knows he’s maybe a little bit in love with Stiles and has been for a while now. He’s also fairly sure Stiles feels something like that for him too. Really, if you get down to it, they’ve been dating for a couple months now. Not officially or anything, but.
It was Stiles who finally talked Derek into getting a new place, Stiles who went with him to look at potential houses and apartments. And Stiles who’d insisted a house would be better, so none of the wolves would have to deal with neighbors too close by, and no neighbors would have to deal with the pack’s particular brand of noisy. Stiles was the reason Derek finally bought a phone, the reason he has instant coffee in his kitchen when he himself prefers tea, the reason there’s any furniture at all in the new house other than his own bed. Well, okay, the last one is also because of the betas, but even so. The point is, Stiles has helped Derek make a life again, instead of just surviving day to day. Has helped Derek want to plan a future for himself again, even if Stiles maybe doesn’t quite know that yet.
And Derek thinks he has helped Stiles too; that Stiles sleeps a little better these days, breathes a little easier because he knows Derek is there for him. Derek hopes so, anyway.
Another thing pointing to them basically already dating: It wasn’t even a question whether they should share a bed tonight or not. As Derek remembers, there is only one bed in each of the display rooms; if they wanted separate beds, they’d have to be either in different rooms or out on the floor. But neither of them wants to let the other out of their sight for too long in a strange place, even if it’s just IKEA, and they wouldn’t be comfortable out in the open and with so many strangers so close.
But sharing a bed shouldn’t be that different from falling asleep on the couch together. The only difference, really, is the intent, but you could just as well say the intent makes all the difference.
It sure as hell feels different, lying here under the same covers as Stiles, both of them in just t-shirts and boxers. Though, part of the difference is probably all of the other people.
Stiles and Derek have been talking for a while – well, Stiles has been talking, about the movies they watched, the things they’ve bought today, something about Scott that Derek didn’t quite catch, what pieces Stiles thinks they should get for the couch(es).
But Stiles is losing steam now, the long day finally catching up to him, and as he quiets, the noise from the other people in the store seemingly becomes louder. There’s a couple whispering quietly in another display room, snoring and snuffling from the other beds, people rolling over or fluffing their pillows, fifty strange heartbeats and about a thousand strange smells.
Derek tries to pull the cover higher, tries to bury his nose in the pillow, tries to focus on Stiles to better tune out everything else. It helps, but not enough, and Derek is just resigning himself to a sleepless night when Stiles speaks up again.
“Would it help if I came closer?” Stiles asks quietly, because he may be half asleep, but Stiles is still one of the most observant people Derek knows (the others being the Sheriff, Lydia, and Chris). “I’m familiar at least, right?” Stiles continues. “If I’m closer my scent will be stronger; maybe enough to block out the other smells? Or just help you tune them out. And we cuddle all the time when you’re your furry, fluffy self, so this won’t be that different, right? ‘m not sure what to do about the sounds though. Should’ve brough earplugs or something. Do you think IKEA sells earplugs? I can go look for some if you want.”
“It’s fine.” Derek interrupts before Stiles can make good on that offer. “Yeah, I think it would help, if you were closer. With the noise too, if I can better focus on your heartbeat.”
“Yeah?” Stiles asks with a small grin, then he lifts the cover where it dips between them, making a space for Derek in his arms. “Well, bring it in, then, big guy.”
Derek only hesitates for a second before he thinks, what the hell, he’s offering, and Derek trusts Stiles not to suggest anything he wouldn’t be comfortable with, at least when it comes to Derek.
So, Derek moves over, into the waiting embrace, tugs his head under Stiles’ chin where the scent is stronger, and tries not to feel awkward or like he’s taking advantage of the situation when he wraps an arm around Stiles’ middle.
Then Stiles pulls the cover up almost over Derek’s head and tugs his own arm around Derek’s shoulder to gently card his fingers through his hair, and as Stiles’ breathing slows with sleep, so does Derek’s.
Stiles’ first thought when he wakes up is something along the lines of ‘who put price tags on all my stuff?’ before he realizes a few things in rapid succession:
- That is not, in fact, ‘his stuff’
- The ‘stuff’ doesn’t actually belong to anyone at all (Stiles thinks?), because…
- He’s in IKEA
- There’s someone looking at him from the doorway leading out from the IKEA display room he’s currently in
- He’s very warm and comfortable
- There was a snowstorm, so he and Derek got stranded in IKEA overnight
- He’s very warm and comfortable because Derek is literally sleeping on him
It’s possible there are more points to that list, but Stiles is a little (a lot) distracted by point seven. He was confused but pleased last night when Derek agreed to… essentially snuggle with him, even if it was only for practical reasons. He’s now even more confused and pleased because it seems he and Derek have somehow moved even closer during the night. Stiles is on his back, one arm sprawled almost over the side of the bed, the other wrapped around Derek’s shoulders. Derek is lying half on top of him, their legs tangled together, Derek’s head on Stiles’ chest… shoulder… area. One of Derek’s arms is squished kind of uncomfortably between them, but the other is tangled in Stiles’ shirt over his heart, so Stiles isn’t complaining. Derek is a werewolf, any kinks from sleeping weird will heal before he’ll probably even notice them.
There’s someone looking at them from the doorway.
Stiles’ brain very rudely interrupts his internal freak-out-slash-celebratory-dance by reminding him of point four on the list. When he manages to drag his eyes away from Derek and towards the doorway, he sees that the person is a very unimpressed staff member, given the blue shirt and lanyard and the scowl that doesn’t quite rival Derek’s RBF.
“Did you two have sex in that bed?” the blue shirt asks, and Stiles is suddenly having a related but also completely different freak-out.
Luckily, it turns out Derek is awake and his brain more online than Stiles’ is, because his head lifts just far enough off of Stiles’ chest to send what is no-doubt an impressive glare towards the blue shirt and say, “No.”
How Stiles could’ve ever thought Derek was void of emotion is one of the universe’s greatest mysteries: There are so many emotions packed into that one short syllable. Stiles detects offence, incredulity, anger, maybe even embarrassment, just to mention a few. Though, someone not as well versed in Derek-speak as Stiles is would probably only notice the anger.
“You scared the poor employee,” Stiles half-jokes when they’ve left, to distract himself from the way Derek is making himself comfortable against Stiles’ chest again. “What, are you really that offended they thought you’d had sex with me? We are snuggled up pretty close, you know. Easy mistake to make.”
Derek somehow manages to sound stern despite mumbling into Stiles’ right pectoral when he says, “‘m not having sex with you in an IKEA display bed.” Pity.
“How about on an IKEA display couch?”
“No.”
“One of the tables? Some of them looked pretty sturdy.”
“No.”
“The hammock?”
“No.”
So. Stiles really is pretty good at reading whole sentences from Derek’s one-word answers. Whole paragraphs, even. Usually. But he’d thought, when Derek answered the employee unfortunate enough to be sent to wake them up, that ‘no’ meant something along the lines of ‘no, of course I didn’t have sex with this guy, what do you take me for? Someone with low standards?’.
But he’s thinking now, maybe he was wrong? Maybe what Derek actually meant was ‘No, of course I didn’t have sex with this guy in an IKEA display bed with fifty other people within human earshot, what do you take me for? An exhibitionist with low standards?’. And maybe Stiles is a little unsure if the low standards are in regard to himself or to the place. He knows Derek likes him, but Derek is also a Greek god, and Stiles is… Stiles. Well. One way to find out? He’ll—He can always blame food poisoning or something if this ends badly, right?
“Your own bed?” he asks, “Back in your house? If we lock the doors? I can even put down some Mountain Ash to keep people out?” He doesn’t quite manage the same sort of teasing, unaffected tone he’d used for the other suggestions, but it doesn’t matter. Derek doesn’t need werewolf hearing to notice how fast Stiles’ heart is beating now, not with the how loud it feels and how close Derek is to it.
Derek is quiet for what is probably not even a second, for all that it feels like years to Stiles. Then he pushes up on his elbow to look at Stiles, probably so Stiles can better appreciate his face of—
Derek is kissing him.
It lasts just a second, very chaste, closed mouth, a little off-center on Stiles’ lips. But it’s a kiss. Stiles might have been wrong about the whole ‘waking up’ part of this morning.
When Derek pulls back, he gives Stiles a fond if slightly exasperated look. “If you want,” he says, and Stiles was definitely wrong about waking up. This has to be a dream. Or maybe they tried driving home in the snow last night after all and they’re actually dead in a ditch somewhere and Stiles somehow tricked his way into heaven. He didn’t think heaven would look like IKEA, or that he would ever get to see it for himself, but there’s really no better explanation.
Derek’s smile is starting to look a little pinched. Before Derek can get any stupid ideas, like moving away Stiles kicks his brain – or mouth, mostly – into gear.
“Uhm, yes. Yes, I want. I very much want. Like. Right now. Why did you let me drag you all the way to IKEA, it’s gonna take hours to get home, Derek, I can’t wait hours now that I know this is an option. What if you change your mind on the way? You can’t change your mind. No takebacks. None. You understand? Because—” Stiles is aware of the verbal vomit he’s spewing, but he can’t stop it and the smile is back on Derek’s face, bigger than before, so he kind of doesn’t want to stop it.
Derek does it for him when he leans over to give Stiles another quick kiss. “Oh, no you don’t,” Stiles says when Derek starts to pull away, “Come back here and kiss me properly, big guy.” Derek does.
It’s another indeterminable amount of time later – probably a couple minutes – when Derek pulls back far enough to say, “Let’s get up. I smell breakfast.”
Later, when they’re back in Derek’s house, IKEA bags dumped unceremoniously in the living room and clothes marking their path to Derek’s bedroom, Stiles pokes Derek in his (very muscly, very naked) side and asks, “So, uhm. Was this just—we got snowed in at IKEA together, one-time sex? Or more-than-one-time sex? Or is it sex and feelings? Or—”
“Stiles.”
“Yes?”
“Do you actually think I need a nutcracker?”
“I—what? Nutcracker?”
“You know, a tool made specifically to crack nuts that have shells too tough for normal people to crack with their hands?” Stiles knows what a nutcracker is, they just bought one, is this some kind of euphemism? Why is Derek talking about this right now? Stiles is a little worried he accidentally made Derek buy a makeshift torture device. More worried it will be used on him.
“Uhm. No. You can probably crack ten nuts at once without special tools or even—”
“Then why did you make me buy one?”
“Because I might need one? I like nuts, Derek, both the sexy and the edible ones, and we can’t all have built-in supernatural nutcracking powers like you.”
“Exactly.” Derek interrupts what was sure to be an epic and not at all coherent rant.
“What do you mean, exact—” Oh.
“You made me buy you a special coat hook.” Derek continues, dead pan. “We’re going to design a couch together.”
Oh.
“Did I move in with you without noticing?”
“More or less.”
“Oh.”
“Does that answer your question?”
“I—yes. Yeah, it does.”
Stiles is definitely in heaven.