Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1358950.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale, Sheriff_Stilinski, Scott_McCall, Isaac
      Lahey, Danny_Mahealani, Aiden_(Teen_Wolf), Ethan_(Teen_Wolf), Jackson
      Whittemore, Lydia_Martin, Allison_Argent, Original_Characters, Chris
      Argent, Melissa_McCall
  Additional Tags:
      Teen_Wolf_AU, Prostitute!Stiles, Human_AU, Bondage, PWP, Accidental_Plot,
      Oral_Sex, Handcuffs, Hurt!Stiles, Protective!Derek, Hurt/Comfort, True
      Love, because_I'm_a_sucker_for_true_love, I_really_am
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-03-23 Completed: 2014-04-13 Chapters: 6/6 Words: 7910
****** Making Ends Meet ******
by nine_thursdays
Summary
     Stiles, working in a grimy strip club just to make ends meet, is down
     on his luck and struggling to pay for food, housing and his father's
     drinking habit, when a tall dark stranger arrives to rock his world
     forever...
Notes
     My first fic, I'm so exited! Hope y'all enjoy it!
***** Making Ends Meet *****
''Stilinski! You're on, man.''
The manager, a man called Isaac Lahey, hollered through the door at Stiles,
who'd been trying to catch a nap between dances.
Stiles bolted upright, nearly smashing his face on the grubby mirror in front
of him. While many of the other dancers at the 'Bottom's Up' Gentleman's Club
in Beacon Hills spent their time between dances preening, Stiles used the
minimal amount of makeup and gel required to mask his age and the bags beneath
his eyes.
The club's owner, a friend from high school before Stiles quit, Scott McCall,
ignored Stiles' illegal age of 17 due to the fact that the two were mates and
purely that Stiles could strip and fuck like a pro.
It's not like he wasn't grateful - without this job, Stiles and his father
would've been out on the streets months ago. Stiles had to make ends meet since
his father failed on one too many cases, was fired, and turned to drink soon
after, leaving his 17-year-old son to care for them both. Forced to quit school
and find work, this was all Stiles could find - stripping and fucking men who
were looking to escape unhappy marriages by buying young boys with no other
option. There was even talk that the club's policies now included renting any
of the 15 or so dancers for the night to any patron looking for a more private
affair.
At the moment, there were six of them stuffed in the tiny room that served as a
dressing room of sorts: Danny Māhealani, Jackson Whittle-something, two twins
who were fairly new but did a supposedly amazing double act, a hulking black
guy Stiles didn't know, and Stiles himself.
Isaac thumped the door again, yelling
''Stilinski!! Now, dude!''
Stiles sighed, ran a hand through his hair and called back
''Dude, I'm coming!''
Standing, he straightened the pleats in his schoolgirl-style miniskirt and
smoothed the wrinkles in his black, sheer crop top. For reasons beyond him, the
patrons of the club like hot, young men dressed as girls. This continued into
his stage name - Samantha Stardust.
Stiles stepped out into the dingy hallway, lit by a few unevenly spaced naked
bulbs, neglecting to put on any shoes. He snorted to himself - No-one was gonna
be looking at his feet, what with what he was about to do to a pole in there.
With that, he stepped out onto center stage, lit from all direction by neon red
and blue spotlights and surrounded by dry ice around his feet. Stiles could see
that the club was almost full, with the bar overcrowded with couples in varying
states of sobriety, all men. The only women that worked here were the barmaids,
Lydia and Allison, who worked safe in the knowledge that nobody in here would
hit on them.
Stiles did not have the same privilege, as he felt about thirty pairs of eyes
roam over his toned body as he sashayed over to the pole in the middle of a
circular, rotating platform.
Bending at the waist, leaving his ass on full view, pointed at the crowd,
Stiles licked a long stripe up the metal pole, the taste sharp in his mouth. He
tuned and rubbed himself up and down the pole in time with the rhythmic beat of
the club's music, running his hands over his chest as he did so, eyes half
closed. Hearing a few moans from the horny bastards in the audience made him
smile, a misplaced sense of pride at being good at his job.
Stiles turned and circled the pole, circling his hips as he went, before coming
to a halt on the now-stationary stage. He leaned back on the pole, pushing the
length of metal between is ass cheeks while lifting one corner of his shirt
teasingly to show washboard abs with traces of scars on them from abusive
customers and bar fights, which actually proved a turn on for someone, as the
metal cuff round his ankle vibrating, telling Stiles someone had requested him
- the cuff worked a little like a pager, buzzing to let Stiles know he'd done
his job and should report back to Lahey, who'd point him and the perv who liked
what they saw in the direction of an empty room.
This was the part Stiles truly hated. The customer could want anything from a
private dance to sex, and Stiles had to agree, if he wanted to be paid and to
keep his job. Stiles remembered one customer,of about 19, high as fuck, and
drunk too, who made Stiles get on his hands and knees for close to two hours,
while the young man did every trick in the book - Stiles was fucked into the
shag carpeting (oh, the irony) so hard he blacked out, and came to when the
young man slapped his face with his cock, coaxing his mouth open... That man
paid for food for two weeks.
Swaying away from the pole and the crowd, past Jackson, who stepped out in a
full leather ensemble, Stiles walked back into the hallway, past the dressing
room and out into the club, where Isaac grabbed his wrist and pointed him in
the direction of a secluded booth in a darkened corner of the club, where all
Stiles could make out was a dark, broad, shadow.
Everything in Stiles was yelling no, you've got enough to pay the bills, no
more - but Stiles waltzed over anyway, a seductive smirk playing over his
plush, pink lips.
Then the man leaned forward and the smirk slid from Stile's face.
The man was, simply put, gorgeous. He had deep-set eyes, dark with desire,
underneath thick eyebrows and jet black, spiky hair that Stiles just wanted to
bury his hand or face in. The leather jacket that the man was wearing did
nothing to disguise his lean, muscular body. He emitted an aura of confidence -
hell, who wouldn't, looking like that - as he rested one arm on the table and
admired Stiles, who slid into the seat opposite.
Stay cool, Stiles thought to himself.
''Hiya, handsome, like what you're seeing?''
The man's eyes seemed to get even darker, as he rubbed the stubble on his chin,
almost in thought.
When he spoke, it was in a gravelly, yet smooth, tone that made Stiles mind fog
with want.
''What is your opinion on bondage.''
Wow, Stiles thought, just leap right in there, why don't ya. It wasn't phrased
like a question, but Stiles replied anyway
''For you, gorgeous, I'm down for anything.''
That seemed to satisfy the beautiful man, who got up and stepped towards one of
the room at the back of the club with a curtain door, that held a couch and a
pole.
The man flicked the sign by it from ''Available'' to ''In Use'' and went in.
Stiles took a deep breath and followed.
As soon as the curtain fell into place behind him, Stiles found himself shoved
up against the burgundy walls, big hands all over him, on his chest, face, back
of the neck, in his hair. The man kissed a line up his neck , from his throat
to his mouth. Stiles tried to match his pace, but the man took control in
everything, had Stiles' hands pressed up behind his head while Mr Perfect
explored Stiles' mouth with a talented tongue like nothing Stiles had ever
tasted.
Abruptly, the stranger released Stiles, who leaned on the wall, shaking, while
the customer stripped his leather jacket and plain grey t-shirt, leaving him
only in a pair of snug, dark jeans.
Stiles barely had time to admire the view before him as the man quickly resumed
his kissing and licking every part of Stiles' neck.
In between kisses, the man virtually growled
''Off.''
And tugged at Stiles top.
The man moved away by a millimeter and Stiles quickly discarded the shirt,
shocked to find himself enjoying this as much as the stranger seemed to be.
While Stiles removed his top, the man all but tore the skirt from Stiles' lower
half, and the customer moaned at the sight of Stiles naked except for a pair of
thigh-high stockings. The man knelt at Stiles' feet and ripped away the
stockings in an almost animalistic gesture, before pulling Stiles by the knees
down to the floor with him.
For Stiles, this was new and totally hot. Usually customers wanted to watch,
not touch, but this man was the near opposite, all touch, and smoking touch at
that.
The man stood, and looked down at Stiles with a hungry look
''Suck.''
He commanded.
So Stiles knelt and mouthed at the man's dick through the rough fabric of his
jeans before pulling down the zipper with his teeth. The man's erection became
free, as the guy had gone fucking commando, to Stiles' surprise.
Stiles took the thick, hot member in his mouth and began to swirl his tongue
around the tip, which seemed to drive the customer mad, so much so that the man
braced himself on the wall with one hand, and used the other to hold Stiles
neck in place while he thrust in and out of the teen's mouth with a ferocious
speed. It was all Stiles could do not to gag and the man buried his entire
length inside Stiles' mouth and came with a shout down his throat, hot and
thick and fast.
The man moaned in the filthiest voice Stiles'd ever heard (and he'd heard quite
a few moans) and Stiles swallowed every drop, milking Mr Tall, Dark And
Handsome for all he could, addicted to the taste of the man;s come on his
tongue.
When every drop was done, the man zipped his fly back up, threw his shirt on,
and turned to leave
''Wait''
Stiles croaked, and to his shock, the man did, and looked at him with a
surprising tenderness in his eyes
''What's your name?''
The man seemed to debate answering, but then growled
''Derek.''
And whirled out through the curtain into the club.
Upon surveying the room, Stiles saw that the man - Derek - had left his leather
jacket behind. Stiles scooped it up, inhaling the smell of sweat, aftershave
and pure HIM...
Stiles collapsed on the couch, alone, feeling like a dirty whore.
Which, he supposed, he was.
***** Hot Stuff *****
Chapter Summary
     It's been three days and twenty-six men since him. Derek. Stiles
     can't get him out of his head. Of course, keeping the leather jacket
     that smells of him doesn't help either, but Stiles clings to the what
     he believes is a one-time-thing. That is, until Mr Perfect wanders in
     again...
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Three days later, Stiles sits in the same chair by the same mirror, still
trying to sleep, but to no avail. Not one of the twenty-two men over the last
two days, or the four today, had even come close to Derek. Derek. Even his name
made Stiles tremble with need.
Stiles checked the clock on the wall.
He had three hours until he had to dance again. Usually, Stiles slept, or
chatted with any of the other dancers, but tonight it was just him, alone in
the prep room, everyone else dancing or gone.
Heaving himself up, he did up the police jacket that had been ripped open by
his last customer, an elderly man who almost died on the spot when Stiles made
him come with dirty words. Thankfully, the skintight shorts were intact, and
his heavy-duty style boots were fine too.
God, Stiles thought, my life is one charade after another, until I'm not even
me, just a fucktoy trying to pay the rent.
Still, Stiles staggered out of the room (still sore from a previous night's
endeavors, and out into the club.
Pushing his was through crowds of sweaty bodies grinding away to a heavy
bassline, Stiles made his way towards the bar, where it was quieter. Allison
greeted him with a sad smile
''Sore, hon?''
Stiles shrugged off the concern
''Nah, It'll wear off.''
Allison seemed to accept this, and tossed him a can of beer, which Stiles
opened and took a large swig of. It didn't taste of much, Stiles didn't think
anything would even touch the man he'd tasted before, Mr Perfect, Derek.
He even knew this was dumb - he was a stripper, for fucks sake, and it wasn't
the done thing to fall for people who didn't even try to pretend they wanted
anything more than a fast fuck for a quick buck.
And yet...
Stiles sighed into his beer can, and Allison quietly said
''It'll get better, honey.''
By the time Stiles looked up to answer, she'd moved away to serve someone else.
Wasn't that always the way, Stiles wondered dejectedly.
Finishing his beer, Stiles was about to leave and head to the diner down the
road for the cheapest meal they did (burger and fries, Stiles knew from
experience), when his ankle bracelet buzzed inside his worker boot.
Stiles groaned and hit his head on the bar counter. It wasn't fair, he thought,
he was on a goddamn BREAK! But again, from experience, Stiles knew that if you
got buzzed, no matter where or what you were up to (unless it was another
client), you hauled ass to Isaac, who was already beckoning Stiles over.
Giving him a thump on the back, Isaac nudged Stiles toward a table on the edge
of the packed dance floor.
Stiles sauntered over, playing with the set of fake (he hoped) handcuffs that
came with the outfit, looking but not seeing the man in front of him.
Until those eyes caught his, and Stiles steps faltered. Because the eyes were
dark but also light and help promises of passion.
Derek's eyes.
All of Stiles wanted to run at him, but Stiles reminded himself that it wasn't
him that brought Derek back, but more likely some kind of perversion or
unhappiness or some such crap...
And still...
Stiles sat in the stool opposite Derek, who regarded him with a much more
cavalier attitude than before, which Stiles put down to the six or seven empty
pint glasses before him.
His suspicions were confirmed when Derek spoke, slurring his words together
''Didya miss me... Because there ain't been nuthin as good as you,
gorgeous...''
The difference between the last Derek and this Derek were so huge Stiles felt
like he could get whiplash.
This time, when Stiles and the older man entered one of the secluded rooms,
Derek almost tripped onto the couch, and when Stiles snickered, Derek all but
growled and pulled the younger man closer, until the two were lying
horizontally across the large plush sofa, like by a flickering blue bulb from
above.
Derek pushed his smoldering hands up and underneath the police jacket, feeling
Stiles back with a touch the melted Stiles to the very core, while the young
boy clutched at Derek's hair with desperate hands as their mouths met in a
frenzy of licking, sucking, pulling, sighing...
To Stiles, it felt like they kissed for years, but it still wasn't long enough.
Derek broke this kiss with a moan, and ripped open the police jacket, in almost
a perverse reenactment of what the four men before him had done, except Derek
didn't stop there.
He tore the shirt from Stiles altogether, and the shorts too, ripped away,
leaving Stiles naked, his erection standing up against his abs, painting his
stomach with precome.
Derek stopped kissing and ripping and just looked at Stiles' body, stroking his
sides, his chest, his thighs resting on the sofa, and almost snarled
''Fucking beautiful''
The words almost sounded like an insult, but Derek didn't give Stiles time to
wonder before Derek began to discard his own clothes.
His black tank top and grey jeans joined the floor next to Stiles' outfit.
Bizarrely, Stiles still held the cuff twirled around his pinky finger, and
Derek, after joining Stiles naked in the (thankfully) heated room, reached for
the cuffs and snapped out around the hand that still grasped his hair.
It was only when he felt the snap of the cuff that Stiles felt a twinge of
anxiety, which was quickly dissipated by Derek, who tenderly kissed along
Stiles jaw, up to his ear, where he took the lobe in his teeth and toyed with
it until Stiles moaned loudly.
At the noise, Derek shoved the younger boy up, off the couch and over to the
pole, where Derek snapped the other cuff on Stiles other hand, effectively
tying Stiles to the cold length of metal, completely at Derek's mercy.
And Derek was merciful, licking and tasting every inch of Stiles, from face to
neck to chest to abs to thigh and finally to Stiles' achingly hard dick.
Derek swallowed Stiles' entire length in one go, surrounding Stiles in a heat
so good Stiles nearly came there and then. But then Derek did something
unpredictable.
He started humming as he sucked on Stiles' throbbing dick, Stiles pliant and
quivering under Derek's touch until he could not hold himself together any more
and Stiles came with a shout straight down Derek's waiting throat.
When Derek released him, both from his mouth and the pole by bending the tacky
plastic cuffs, Stiles saw that Derek had come all over himself, as he proceeded
to clean himself up with one of the washcloths that were stacked by the couch,
and Derek threw one at Stiles, who caught it in surprise and began to redress.
Derek, once dressed, started to leave, but stopped, like before, only this time
he did so without prompt from Stiles.
Derek bent over the younger boy, still naked, and planted an unusually gentle
kiss upon Stiles' forehead, before ducking out into the club, leaving Stiles
open-mouthed in shock.
When stiles finally gathered both his wits and his clothes, he too left the
small room, only to be greeted by Isaac.
Lahey grinned and said
;;Last customer just paid $800 for whatever you just did. Scott's so pleased he
says you can have the rest of the night off! Oh, and here's your cut.''
The older man pressed a wad of bills into Stiles' hand, which he guessed to be
about $400.
Glancing at the clock, Stiles realized he'd actually got a pretty good deal -
enough to make ends meet all by 1 in the morning.
With a slight smile, after changing into jeans, a plain red t-shirt and Derek's
jacket, Stiles ambled towards the exit, giving Allison and Lydia a brief wave
as he passed the bar.
The cold air stung, but in a good way, as Stiles stepped out into the darkened
street.
He was just pondering the pro's and cons of eating so early in the morning when
a fist came out of nowhere, catching Stiles of the cheekbone.
He stumbled, catching himself on the cobbled stone wall of the club as his
attacker came as him again.
Fists and kicking feet came at him from all angles, so there must be more than
one person, Stiles briefly thought, as he slid down the wall under the
onslaught, trying to protect his head with his hands as best as possible...
Curled in a ball, the attackers kicked for what felt like hours before one of
them hauled him up and spat in his face angrily
''Fuckin' whore. You scum should die for the shit you do for a fuckin'
livin'.''
Stiles barely heard the words, his head was ringing and something warm and wet
was dripping down his cheek onto his jacket.
At least, he thought, if I'm gonna die, i get to die surrounded by him.
Derek.
Chapter End Notes
     I CAN'T HELP MYSELF. Not sure if adding some fluff in the next
     chapter would be good, opinions??
     *SPOILER** Derek will save the day, don't worry!
***** Batman *****
Chapter Summary
     Here comes Batman. I mean, Derek.
Chapter Notes
     I'm sorry but I'm also not sorry for this.
     UPDATE
     I realized I fucked up with the names and stuff, but it's fixed now,
     I think. Sorry, guys.
Just as Stiles accepted that he was probably going to be beaten to death by a
bunch of assholes wearing a customer's jacket, the punching ceased, followed by
a series of strangled cries, and the meaty hands that had been clasping Stiles
released him, and he fell down the wall and landed in a heap on the floor.
Cracking open one eye that was well on it's way to swelling shut, Stiles took
in the scene before him.
Two of the three men that had been beating Stiles mercilessly were lying on the
floor, the fatter of the two groaning in pain while the skinhead that had spat
insults at Stiles was flat out on his back, blood gushing from a cut on his
chin.
The third man faced of Stiles savior, the two dark figured circling one another
like prize fighters in a boxing ring, lit by a streetlamp at the end of the
road.
The dick that'd been kicking Stiles suddenly lunged forward before Stiles could
focus enough to make out his savior's identity.
The man who'd came to Stiles aid growled at the other man as the two collided,
all fists and feet and groaning moans like nothing Stiles usually heard.
Stiles observed the confrontation through blurry vision, a pounding in his head
and a sharp pain all down his right leg and a deep ache in his chest making it
hard to breathe, let alone focus.
Concentrating as much on the fight while trying not to whimper from the pain in
his wrecked body, Stiles breathed deeply through his bloody nose, the coppery
smell mingling with the safe and familiar smell of Derek, all pine needles and
aftershave and a not entirely unpleasant smell of sweat, which almost leeched
some of the pain from his world, dimming the fading light in Stiles' eyes.
At the sudden snap and sharp, guttural noise, Stiles weakly peered up at the
fighting figures, one of which was now kneeling in front of the other,
clutching his leg, looking up in almost submission at the man Stiles was pretty
sure had saved his life, the man who quietly, in a voice that promised endless
violent hurt, said
''Touch him again and I'll snap your fucking neck.''
And that was when Stiles could finally piece a part of the puzzle together.
''Der'k.''
He mumbled through a split lip. The man in question spun and rushed over as the
remaining conscious attacker began to pathetically drag himself away from the
two (now) unconscious men on the damp sidewalk.
Derek tenderly touched Stiles face, looking into the injured boy's fluttering
eyes, before proceeding to check Stiles' body with gentle caresses, wincing
every time Stiles sucked in a breath when the older man touched a bruised or
bleeding part of Stiles, which was almost everywhere.
Stiles let his eyes close as Derek tried to pick Stiles as gently as he could
up from the mucky sidewalk. Until then, Stiles had tried to contain any noises
of pain, so as not to draw attention to himself, but now he gave in, whining
and sobbing as every movement caused jarring pain in almost every limb, and
inside his chest, causing Derek to abandon picking him up, settling for getting
Stiles into a sitting position, leaning the younger man's back against the
wall, whispering
''Sorry, sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry.''
as the older man stroked Stiles hair with care, but his voice became firm
''Hey. Hey,, look at me.’’
It took tremendous effort, but Stiles managed to blink wearily up at Derek
through the one eye that wasn't swollen shut. Derek continued caressing Stiles’
hair, while talking in an authoritative tone
‘’Hey, I need you to tell me what hurts.’’
Stiles huffed through bloody lips and smiled faintly
‘’Everywhere. Chest, right leg, head in particular.’’
Derek’s eyes became cold and hard, but Stiles felt the emotion wasn't directed
at him, more at the fact that Stiles hurt at all.
Through a head that felt like it was filled with cotton wool, Stiles vaguely
registered that he felt safe in the arms of Derek, and allowed his eyes to
slide shut again, the effort becoming too much. Derek continued talking to him,
but it was like Derek was at the end of a very long tunnel that Stiles couldn't
quite reach.
Snippets of words reached his fuzzy ears
‘’C'mon…to me…hospital…family?’’
Had he been alive enough to answer what he was pretty sure was a question,
Stiles would've laughed dryly, his only family being a drunk father probably
asleep in a pool of his own vomit somewhere in their two-bed house.
But alive enough he was not, and slumped over, feeling large but soft hands
catch him and hold him close.
And then he was gone, gone, gone...
Asleep in the arms of his Batman, warm and safe and smelling like home, Stiles
dreamed...
In his dream, he was still in Derek's leather jacket, still in the alleyway,
but everything else was different.
First, nothing hurt. He felt fine. Great, even. Worry-free and happy.
Second, there were no attackers anywhere to be seen, not crawling feebly away
or rushing at Stiles with hatred in their eyes.
It was a sunny day, in the dream, and the alleyway was bustling with people,
all heading into what had been the club, which was now a coffee shop, retaining
the name ''Bottom's Up.''.
Stepping through the glass door, Stiles felt his nostrils fill with the smell
of coffee and baking bread. Lydia and Allison were serving customers, and waved
as Stiles walked past, an unseen force pulling him towards a table in the
corner, where a gorgeous man sat alone, rising to embrace Stiles with a smile
Stiles had only ever imagined on his face.
Derek.
The two sat down together, and Derek opened his mouth to speak, but his voice
was wrong. Not his
''Fuckin' whore. You scum should die for the shit you do for a fuckin'
livin'.''
Stiles stood and stumbled as Derek smashed him across the cheek with a coffee
cup
Stiles woke with a start, gasping.
A sharp, piercing beeping noise filling the still air, making Stiles peer
around at his strange surroundings.
The smell of disinfectant chased away the smell of coffee that Stiles swore he
could still smell from the dream-come-nightmare, as he registered that he was
in a hospital. In the corner, a figure lay asleep in a chair.
Stiles smiles, despite the aches in his body and his split and throbbing lip.
His Batman had stayed.
***** Not A Minute Too Late *****
Chapter Summary
     Stiles tries to confront the mess that is his life with the
     unexpected help of Derek, who has issues of his own...
Chapter Notes
     I'm trying to write a chapter a day, but I'm super busy so I'm sorry
     in advance if it doesn't work out.
     FYI, i was listening to 'Salvation' and 'The Power Of Love' by
     Gabriella Aplin while writing this chapter, and if you listen to
     those songs and imagine Sterek then jesus fuck it's beautiful
The next few hours saw Stiles wrestling with himself: the beating had made him
acknowledge the cons to his work and how they far outweighed the pros... He
basically had the same conversation with himself while watching the rhythmic
heartbeat monitor across his bed.
Was it true that Stiles could find no other work? There had to be something
else...
But what if there wasn't? How would he cope? How, more importantly, would his
father cope?
Stiles knew, deep, deep, deep down, that his father DID care for him, he really
did, but between losing Stiles' mom and being fired, the man had really chosen
the only option he thought was available.
Stiles resolved, there and then, to be home more, to help his Dad, cut him off
completely if that's what it took, because they, as the pathetic excuse for a
family unit, could, would, should not continue like this.
This promise to himself seemed to almost fix something within him, something
that broke that day he saw his father fall to drink, or maybe the day he took
the job at the club, whatever it was, forged in fire and hardship, it seemed to
repair itself with the knowledge that Stiles was going to drag himself and his
father out of the mess of their lives, no matter what it took.
Stiles wished he knew was to do about the strip club job. He wished he could
return to some form of education, but he didn't really see it happening.
He was just sorting through a list of other options of work in his head when he
heard rustling from the corner as Derek awoke, blinking blearily around the
room, as Stiles had done, wiping sleep from his eyes. Derek shook his head,
reminding Stiles, oddly, of a dog clearing water from it's ears, shaking rain
from it's fur. If only he could shake his worries so easily...
When Derek saw Stiles watching him with a half-smile, Derek almost ran over,
grabbing Stiles hand with one paw, and touching his cheek with the other.
Stiles saw sadness in his beautiful eyes, and Derek seemed to be searching for
something within Stiles' eyes.
Whether he found it or not, Stiles did not know, as the older man pulled Stiles
into a rough hug, whispering
''Thank god.''
into Stiles hospital gown.
Derek finally released the shaken boy, pulling a chair up close to the bed and
studying Stiles with a look of intense concentration, before speaking quietly.
''I'm sorry i wasn't there in time.''
And Stiles was somewhat shocked to see that Derek seemed to mean it. Now Stiles
was the one to shake his head
''What? No, no, no, you weren't a minute too late. I mean, you saved me,
dude.''
Derek seemed to relax under the forgiveness of the boy he cared so inexplicably
much for.
''Well, I'm sorry anyway. How're you feeling?''
Stiles gave a quick, humorless laugh
''Apart from feeling like a 4x4 was parked on my leg and chest, working in a
strip club to pay for my alcoholic dad, I'm perfect.''
Shit. Stiles clamped his mouth shut. He'd said too much, and carefully watched
Derek's reaction. The other man just looked truly sad and apologetic, and
couldn't quite look into the boy's inquisitive eyes
''Well, you have three cracked ribs, a broken knee, stitches in your cheek, and
a split lip, but luckily, no concussion.''
Stiles immediately began calculating how long it'd be before he could work
again, or at the very least leave the hospital to look for other work, and
Derek seemed to sense this, leaning forward to cover the young man's trembling
had with one of his, finally meeting Stiles' eyes
''You're not going back for a long time. Hopefully never.''
Before he could analyze the implications of that sentence, Derek stood up
abruptly, and spoke with almost a touch of anger
''I'm going to get you a drink. D'you need food?''
Stiles noticed the word 'need' not 'want'. Derek seemed to truly care for his
health. Stiles shook his head, and Derek nodded once in return and started to
leave the small room, before stopping, turning and holding Stiles' gaze with a
piercing one of his own
''I don't even know your name...''
Stiles chuckled and replied
''Samantha.''
Derek did not smile, so Stile stopped laughing and replied in a small tone that
made him seem more like 10 than 17
''Stiles. My name is Stiles Stilinski.''
Derek raised one dark eyebrow
''Stiles? That can't be your real name...''
Stiles looked annoyed
''Well it's what I go by given no-one can say my real name, okay?!''
Derek held up his hands in mock surrender and smiled. The smile, Stiles
decided, suited him. It made him look more real, even more beautiful.
''Okay. Be right back...Stiles.''
Derek said his name like it tasted weird, but did so with a smile, which Stiles
managed to return, his heart doing a little double-beat, which he hoped din't
show on the heart monitor.
As Derek left, Stiles let his head fall back onto the overstuffed pillows.
Fuck.
He was falling for an unattainable man.
Fuck.
***** When Wolves Come Knocking... *****
Chapter Summary
     Derek leaves Stiles to his own devices, and it ends as well as can be
     expected.
Chapter Notes
     Sorry it's taken me forever, I've been busy... I GOT ENGAGED!!
     Anyways, enjoyy!
Two days later, Derek had to leave.
Sighing into Stiles' mop of hair, both arms wrapped around the smaller boy, the
older man muttered
''I'm sorry Stiles, I'll be back, okay? Don't get into too much trouble, yes?''
Stiles nodded into the bigger man's chest, hands gripping Derek's leather
jacket as tight as possible.
When the pair broke apart, Stiles looked deep into Derek's beautiful eyes, and
saw something that shocked him.
He saw pain, and sorrow, and guilt. It seemed the bigger man truly care for
Stiles and hated to see him in pain. This eased the knot of worry slowly
forming in the young boy's chest.
Derek too, saw something in Stiles' eyes he did not expect to find there.
Stiles' eyes reflected longing and anxiety, a longing to be loved, safe, Derek
didn't know. All he could tell was that Stiles seemed to care beyond the
codependency they had formed, and way beyond the customer-staff relationship...
Before either man could establish where this left them, Derek planted a soft
kiss on Stiles' bandaged forehead, and all but ran away.
And then all but ran back, stripping his jacket and holding it out to Stiles, a
kind smile slipping across his invisible barriers onto his gorgeous face, and
the older man said
''For you. Don't forget, I'll be back.''
As he walked away again, Stiles thought to himself, I couldn't even if I wanted
to...
Standing alone in his hospital room, all his worries came rushing back, things
that'd seemed less important over the past days...
Like his promise to drag his father out of his drunken stupor.
Hobbling across the hallway to the payphone across his room, Stiles reversed
the charges and dialed his father's mobile.
After a few rings, a surprisingly sober sounding Sheriff Stilinski answered the
phone
''Hello?''
Leaning on the wall for support, Stiles spoke quietly
''Dad. It's me.''
After a moment of radio silence, his father burst into worried life
''Stiles? Where are you? Where've you been? How dare yo-''
Stiles cut him off.
''I'm in hospital, Dad.;;
More radio silence
''What?''
''Would you like me to spell it out to you? I'm in the freaking HOSPITAL.''
Stiles was rapidly losing his cool, but tried to breathe deeply before speaking
again
''I got into a fight, and I'm in hospital. Also, I've quit my job.''
The last part just flowed out of Stiles' mouth, shocking even him. His dad
didn't know what he did for money, thought he worked shifts at the vets with
Scott. Maybe he could work there, Stiles thought, note to self.
His father, oblivious, blundered on
''Well, I'll be right there, of course.''
Stiles gave a cheerless chuckle
''How, Dad? With the car I couldn't pay for any more that I sold for a week's
worth of food? With the local buses, which barely run? Don't even bother.''
Sounding hurt, the Sheriff spoke in a small voice.
''Stiles, let me in.''
This reminded the young man of his promise, so he tried to lower his voice and
soften his tone.
''Dad, I'll be home soon. The doctors say I can leave next week. Until then...
Um... I'm on sick leave, so there will be money on the credit card in the hall
dresser, okay?''
Again, random lies. Stiles had no idea where he would get his money from...
Before he could say another word however, three police officers came marching
down the hallway towards Stiles, who instinctively turned in, towards the
phone, hiding his face.
A good thing he did, too, because the three burly officers stomped straight
into Stiles' room, then straight back out when they did not find him, and the
three immediately began questioning the poor nurses with the unfortunate luck
to be on this shift. One said nurse, who'd been especially kind to Stiles -
Melissa, he thought her name was - asked why they were searching for him, and
the police officer grumbled back
''In questioning with illegal activities, up to but not limited to
prostitution.''
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
His father was still talking, so Stiles mumbled down the receiver
''Sorry, dad, gotta go, see you soon.''
And then, on impulse, he added
''I love you.''
And to his greater surprise, his father replied
''I love you too, son.''
With those parting words, Stiles hung up the phone and began to shuffle down
the hallway at an infuriatingly slow pace, away from the officers who were
becoming increasingly angry, and Stiles felt a pang of guilt at leaving the
nurses to deal with them.
Just as the injured man had reached the end of the hallway, he heard a shout
aimed at him
''Hey! Stop!''
Shit.
Seeing no other option, as he was way too injured to try and make a dash for
it, Stile slowly turned to face the man coming toward him.
The officer had a stern look on his face as he approached the wary boy, saying
''Stilinski? I need you to come with me, son.''
Shoulders slumped in defeat, he allowed himself to be hustled back down the
passage at the slow pace he could manage, where the two other officers were
waiting.
A slender but muscled man stepped forward when Stiles collapsed onto the bed
''I'm Officer Chris Argent, and we are investigating a local strip club in the
area, which several witnesses swear you are part off. Would you happen to know
anything about that?''
With the final words, Argent raised an eyebrow, as if he knew the answer and
was daring Stiles to tell him anything otherwise.
If Stiles' head was transparent, you would've been able to see the wheels and
cogs turning as the young man tried to think his way out, and you would've seen
him come up empty handed.
''Yes, sir.''
Sensing respectful honesty was the way to go, not his usual sarcasm, Stiles
cleared his throat before continuing
''I work there, sir. It... It was the only job I could get when my father,
Sherif-''
Here, one of the other officers straightened up and exclaimed
''Holy crap, this is the old sheriff's son! Jeez, how is he?''
Sticking to the honesty, Stiles looked at his hands, where he was still
clutching Derek's jacket like it was a buoy and he was a drowning man when he
replied.
''Not good. He drinks his way away from his issues, apparently including me.''
Here, the young man looked up again, and said without flinching,
''That's why I had to become a dancer, sir. He couldn't get work, and I
couldn't find anything else.''
His strength vanished as soon as it appeared and he broke down in tears
''I-I'm s-sorry. Please, I can't go to jail. I-I'm all he has left. Please.''
A heavy hand on his shoulder jerked Stiles' head up, and he found Chris Argent
looking kindly into his eyes.
''Son, we may be able to swing something, if you can help us locate and
identify the owners of the club. How's that sound?''
Nodding gratefully, Stiles almost smiled, and choked out
''That - That sounds great, sir.''
The officers left with words of encouragement and reassurance, which seemed
lost of Stiles, who remained sitting on the bed, staring at the jacket, tears
flowing down his cheeks, for hours after they left.
The boy knew that turning in Scott, Isaac, all the others, would not be a good
move. People like that had friends without morals, who could do a low-life like
Stiles serious harm.
But, a small voice in his head murmured, if you don't, say goodbye to all your
promises about your father, and kiss him goodbye while you're at it too,
because promises don't hold up in court...
For what felt like the millionth time that day, Stiles thought...
Shit.
***** It's The Onions... *****
Chapter Summary
     A happy ending for nearly all involved.
Chapter Notes
     I'm happy with how this turned out, given it's my first. Did you all
     like it?!
To tell or not to tell, Stiles thought, almost laughing at the only quote he
remembered from his English lit course.
For the three days that his Batman had been gone, Stiles had wrestled with the
notion of telling Detective Argent about the owners of the club.
And in that time, Stiles had begun to mend his warped relationship with his
father through their nightly phone calls.
The sheriff had gone four days stone cold sober, since Stiles got beaten up and
didn't return home. In addition to this, his father had begun to search for
work, going out every day and asking all around, a feat of which Stiles was
immensely proud of, even more so that his father had an interview back at the
police station, having an old friend do him a favor of getting him and entry-
level interview; it wasn't much, but it was so much more at the same time that
Stiles could barely breathe.
On top of this, the young man was finally on the mend - his ribs were healing
well and the doctors said he would be discharged in a day or two.
The only problems Stiles had were the following - Christopher Argent had
returned yesterday to ask Stiles for a statement about the club, but the young
boy had asked for another two days time to think over the detectives proposal.
What Stiles had not said was, can I have two days more to wait for the man i
may unfortunately be falling in love with to return and help me make a decision
that could result in my death or imprisonment? Because that would've gone down
about as well as if Stiles had stood up and announced himself to be an alien
from mars.
It didn't help, Stiles thought, as he sat in chair looking out of his hospital
windows, that Derek hadn't even said when he'd be back, leaving Stiles in
horrible suspense.
Horrible suspense filled only with horrible thoughts, decisions it seemed
Stiles would have to make alone.
That is, until Derek swaggered in, as though summoned straight from Stiles’
mind.
The older man walked over and gently placed a large paw upon the younger boy’s
freckled face, and asked in a caring manner
‘’Are you okay?’’
Too overcome with relief that Derek had returned, all Stiles could do was nod
and lean into the hand on his cheek.
Derek pulled up the other chair in the room and sat next to Stiles, but instead
of looking out of the window, both men looked deep into each other’s eyes, both
searching for answers. Derek was the first to speak.
‘’What are you thinking about, Stiles?’’
You. My father. You. Us. You. My job. You. My life. You.
‘’Us.’’
Derek’s head jerked back minutely at Stiles’ answer, but then the older man
smiled, a smile that went straight to Stiles’ heart, as well as… other places.
‘’Yeah?’’
‘’Yeah.’’
Those words seemed to say everything and nothing, so Derek searched for the
feelings between the lines.
‘’I… Stiles, I…’’
He sighed, rubbing a large hand across the bridge of his nose before forcing
the words out, feeling the younger boy’s expectant but wary gaze
‘’I can’t let you go back, Stiles. I need you too much, okay?’’
The last word sounded almost angry, but Stiles mirrored the feelings in them,
and placed a slender hand on Derek’s muscular arm, and finally said what had
been eating him alive. Well, both things, really.
‘’That’s just it. These detectives came, while you were gone. They said if I
can’t tell them who runs the club, then I’ll go to jail. But if I tell them
about Scott, or Isaac, or anyone I knew who worked there, I could be in serious
trouble with whoever Scott sends after me, if he finds out I told. But I can’t
go back either, I won’t leave you.’’
Before Stiles could say another word, though, Derek grasped the small boy’s
chin with one hand, pulling him closer with the other, and the two men collided
in a gentle clash of lips, kissing like there was no tomorrow. It was nothing
like Stiles had felt before, even when kissing Derek before.
This was a game of give and take, melding and melting into one another,
blurring the seams between souls until Stiles felt like the two of them had
become one giant ball of starlight, burning up every issue around them until
all that was left was love.
And while Stiles was aware how very tragically romance-novel that sounded, he
was surprised but not upset or worried to find that he meant every word.
So when the two men pulled apart, there was really only one thing Stiles could
say.
‘’I’m going to report on the managers, tell the detectives. And I’m never going
back there again. And who cares who McCall sends after me? I’ve got you to
protect me now.’’
With a fond smile, Derek pulled the brave young man he was unexpectedly falling
for into another tender kiss, one that promised love and hope and a future
Stiles had given up on…
 
- A Year Later -
Stiles grabbed Derek’s arm and pulled him down the hallway to the kitchen,
where his dad was chopping onions for dinner.
Derek straightened up when he saw the sheriff, and respectfully said.
‘’Sir.’’
In greeting. But the Sheriff shook off Derek’s manners with a smile
‘’Come on over here and start chopping! Lasagne doesn’t make itself…’’
Derek managed a half smile and grabbed a knife to help the sheriff, and Stiles
watched the two older men with a content smile flitting across his cheeks.
It had taken a month for Stiles to find new work, better work. He now worked
for Plateps.Inc. , the same company Derek worked for. It wasn’t a great job, he
delivered coffee and filed papers for the managerial directors, but it was
leaps and bounds ahead of being a stripper.
His father too, had new work, didn’t drink any more, and was slowly working his
way up in the police force, but in a different sector than he last occupied,
more in managing, not arrests, and he and Stiles were closer than they ever had
been.
And as for Derek and Stiles, they were still going strong, with the older man
going as far to eat with the Sheriff and Stiles almost every day of the week.
The Sheriff had taken the news of their relationship well, only remarking that
Derek had better keep his hands to himself while the Sheriff was around, at
which the man Stiles had fallen well and truly for had chuckled nervously and
stared down at his feet.
Tonight, however, the nerves radiating off the pair was almost palpable, so
much so that the Sheriff set down his knife and said.
‘’Okay, what?’’
Bother other men looked up in surprise, at which the oldest man laughed
‘’You two are more nervous than a deer in hunting season. What’s going on?’’
After sharing a glance, Stile spoke
‘’Dad… we have some news.’’
Derek cleared his throat and finished the news, voice like quiet thunder
‘’Stiles and I are moving in together.’’
Before the Sheriff could say a word, Stiles rushed in with reassurance
‘’As long as that okay with you, of course. And we’ll only be across town, not
far, really, we can come visit if you like-‘’
The Sheriff held up a hand, silencing his son
‘’Stiles, that’s fine. Great, actually. I’m happy for you. And don’t worry
about me, son, I’ll be right here if you need me.’’
And then he turned to Derek, who had watched the proceedings with a wary glance
‘’You better not hurt him, emotionally or any other way, or I’ll have you hung,
drawn and quatered.’’
Derek did not laugh, instead he nodded solemnly
‘’Never, sir. I… I love him, sir.’’
Stiles gasped. Derek had never said that before, not in so many words.
Suddenly, the kitchen narrowed down to only the two of them, and Stiles gasped
out
‘’I love you too.’’
And the men collided, Derek holding the knife well out of the way, as he held
the young boy as tightly as he could.
The two broke apart and the sound of a sniffle, to see the sheriff rubbing his
eyes.
Stiles laughed, and even Derek properly smiled, and the sheriff protested
‘’What? It’s the onions, I swear!’’
The three men laughed until they all cried, and hugs were exchanged every which
way. The Stilinski house had not seen such happiness in years…
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