Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Derek Hale- Millionaire Marketing Mogul

                                CEO of Beacon Industries

                                Lady Killer and Womanizer

                                Perpetually Alone

                He shrugs out of his suit coat and lets it fall onto the hard tile of the foyer.  With one hand, he yanks the tie from his neck while with the other he pushes a button on a remote control and the fire place bursts to life.  It does little to warm the room, but the state of the art furnace and floor heaters do the job.  A roaring fire is just for aesthetics.

                With another tap of a button, the shower begins warming up.  Derek strips down and steps into the hot spray of water.  It’s hot and it feels like it could leave blisters, but that’s just the way he likes it.

                He changes into a pair of silk pajamas and settles onto the couch with his briefcase.  Spitting out a curse, he realizes he left some documents at the office.  Looking at his Rolex, he sees that it’s 8:30.  If he quickly gets redressed and speeds back across town, he should be able to catch the night watchman on his rounds and get back into the building.

                He shivers as he steps out onto the sidewalk in front of the Martinmore Hotel, realizing he forgot to grab his coat.  December in New York is no time to be out without a coat.  The Valet immediately pulls up his Mercedes, and he speeds off.

                Within forty minutes, Derek is back in his car, files in hand.  He slams the door shut and starts flipping through the folders.  He startles when the passenger door opens and a body lunges inside.  The gun he keeps hidden under the dash is well within reach, and he grabs it.

                “Holy crap!  You have seat warmers?!”  The brown haired man sinks down into the leather seats and moans lewdly.

                “What are you doing in my car?!” Derek growls.

                “Down boy,” the young man laughs.  “$200 an hour or $500 for the night.  Take your pick.”

                “Excuse me?”

                “$100 for a fast one.”

                “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

                “Okay, fine.  25 bucks as long as we stay in this warm car.  It’s, like, tropical in here.”

                The boy’s chestnut brown eyes sparkle as a passing car’s lights shine in through the windows.  Derek shakes his head in disbelief.  “No.  Get out of my car.”

                “Dude, please.  It’s freezing out there.”  He holds out his hands.  “Limited time offer:  One hour, completely free.  We just have to cuddle for five minutes afterward.”

                “You’re a hooker!”

                He laughs.  “Wow, you’re a little slow on the uptake, aren’t ya?”  He reaches out a hand.  “Deal?”

                “What?  No!  Get out of my car!”

                “But…”

                “Get out!”

                “Fine.”  He kicks the door open.  “When you see the headline ‘Man Dies of Hypothermia on 68^th Street’ in tomorrow’s paper, know it was your fault, A-hole.”

                He slams the door shut and watches the Mercedes pull away.  He shakes his head.  “Who am I kidding?  They don’t put people like me in the paper.”  He grabs his bag and starts walking back down the alley.  Half an hour later he sees and hears an old pick-up rolling along beside him.

                “How much?” a crusty voice calls out to him.

                He cringes.  “$200 an hour or $500 a night.  Take your pick.”

                “Full night, $300, and a hot meal.”

                The boy feels his stomach growling.  He looks at the man in the rusty old truck.  Gnawing on his lip, he shifts his eyes up and down the street and over the truck.  He takes a deep breath and steps off the curb.

                Bleerily, the young prostitute wakes up.  He is literally in a gutter.  He sits up and can feel the bruises on his shoulders and hips and around his neck.  The clothes he was wearing were nothing special, but now he sees he is wearing fishnets, heels, shorts, and a leather and lace sleeveless shirt.  That guy was such a creep.  His bag, along with what money he had, is gone.

                Derek wakes up cocooned in Egyptian cotton.  He yawns, stretches, and pops his neck.  He lazily reaches over to grab the phone and orders room service.  Eggs benedict with hollandaise, sausage, bacon, and toast—the perfect way to start the morning.

                It’s his day off, but he always likes to go into the office for a few hours anyway.  He gets dressed and heads downtown.  As soon as he pulls up to the curb, he sees it- A slightly familiar huddled lump in the entrance to the alley.

                His heart drops as his mind goes back to last night.  If the guy really has frozen to death, he’ll never forgive himself.  The sudden onset of normal human emotions worries him.  He’ll have to call his doctor when he gets a chance.

                Grumbling to himself, he waves off the Valet and shuffles through the slushy remnants of snow on the sidewalk.  He nudges him with the tip of his Italian leather shoe.

                The boy raises his head and looks at him with weary eyes.  “Go away, Seat-Warmers.”

                “Are you okay?” Derek asks.

                “Splendid.”  The boy laughs brokenly.  “What do you want?”

                “I was just checking to see if you were okay.”

                “What do you care?!”  He stands up and tries to stomp away.  He isn’t used to heels, though, so he just kind of wobbles like a drunk on ice skates.  He stops, jerks the shoes off and chucks them down the alley.

                Derek fully sees what the prostitute is wearing for the first time.  “Geeze, you must be freezing!  Here, take my coat.”  -Again, with the human emotions… Calling the doctor is going to the top of his list.

                “Naw, wouldn’t want you to get herpes.”

                Derek cringes.  Why is he even talking to this guy?

                “On second thought... I think I’ll take it.  It’s freezing.” The young boy suddenly turns around.  Derek takes a step back.  “It was a joke, Seat-Warmers.  I’m totally clean...” his eyes fall on the heels laying in the gutter.  “Hopefully.”  He self-consciously picks at the thin hosiery on his legs.  He looks at Derek again.  “Gimme.”

He makes grabby hands toward the coat, and Derek reluctantly passes it to him.  The warmth is heavenly.  “This is, like, extremely warm, man.  Thanks.”

“No… no problem.”  He shakes his head.  “Do you need a ride home?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on.  I’m trying to be nice.”

“I don’t need a ride.”  He throws his arms open wide.  “Chez Moi.  Voila.”  He spins around in a circle.

“You… you live here?  You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“As of right now, I live here.  The scum bag last night stole my cash.  I can’t go back to my place empty handed.”  The boy finds a flattened cardboard box and stands on it to keep his bare feet off the cold pavement.

The young Hale knows he’ll regret it, but for some reason the words come out anyway.  “Come home with me.  I’ll lend you some clothes.  You can get warm.”

                “You gonna give me some money, too?  Warm clothes don’t help me with Jeremy.”  Derek looks at him strangely.  Man, he really is dense… or extremely sheltered.  “The guy in charge.  My p…”

                “Oh, yeah, no.  Just.  Sure, I can give you some cash.”

                The boy turns to him and drapes his hands around this shoulders.  “I don’t take charity.”  He bats his eyes in what he thinks is seduction, but really looks like he has an eyelash jabbing his cornea.

                “Do you take loans?”

                He laughs.  His smile seems to light up the drear December morning.  “Totally.”  He takes off running toward the Mercedes.  Derek doesn’t even try to walk faster.

                The boy is bouncing from foot to foot and wildly motioning toward the black car like he’s auditioning to be the next Vanna White.

                “Can I buy a vowel?”  Derek inwardly laughs at his Wheel of Fortune joke.  His grandmother used to love that show.

                “What?”

                “You look like you’re trying to be the lady from Wheel of Fortune, so I asked if I could buy a vowel.”  Explaining the joke lessens the humor, and Derek deflates a little bit.

                “Ooh, sorry.  You can only buy a D.”  He motions to his crotch with an explosion of jazz hands.

                Derek blushes and looks away.  “I’m not gay.”

                The prostitute laughs.  “Sure…  We both know you’re only being nice to me because you think I’m hott.”

                Without a word, Derek gets in his car.  With a smirk, the boy follows.

                “Oh, by the way,” Derek sneers, “D is a consonant.  You can’t BUY consonants on the show.”

                The boy groans.  “It. Was. A. Joke.  AND a very clever one at that, Seat-Warmers.  A VERY good one.”

                Derek rolls his eyes and floors it.

                “Penthouse.  How did I NOT guess?”  The boy shakes his head.  “Just exactly how rich are you?”

                “Very.”

                “Of course.”

                The boy looks at the pile of clothes in his hands.  “You’re giving them to me?”

                “Yes.”

                “Isn’t giving from the goodness of your heart basically the definition of charity?”  He cocks his head to the side and looks straight into Derek’s eyes.

                Derek doesn’t even blink.  “Trust me, my heart isn’t good.”

                “Oh, you poor thing.  How long you got to live?”

                Blank stare.

                “Fine,” the boy says.  “Don’t laugh at my joke.  Geeze, your heart really isn’t good.  Like at all.”

                Blank stare.

                “I can blank stare you back all day long, buddy.”

                Blank stare.

                Blank stare back.

                Blank stare.

                “Okay, fine.  I can’t do it all day.  Like, that felt like an eternity of silence.  It was horrible.”  The boy smiles.

                Derek’s feet move of their own accord, and suddenly he is kissing the boy’s perfect lips.  In the next instant a fist is connecting with his cheek.

                “Whoa, whoa, whoa!!!!  Like, Rule Number UNO, dude- Never kiss a John!”

                Derek smirks.  “My name’s not John.”

                “No, I mean…”

                Derek interrupts, “Your name isn’t John, is it?”

                “No.”

                “Then, that means neither of us is kissing a John, right?”

                The prostitute cackles.  “Yes, yes it does.”

                Derek moves back in for another kiss.  In a whirlwind of motion, they are sprawled on top of the bed.  They break apart long enough for the doe-eyed boy to breathe, “I thought you weren’t gay.”

                “I never said I wasn’t bi.”

                “Oh.  Great.”

                “And, I thought you said your name wasn’t John?”

                “What?” the prostitute asks.  Derek runs a finger over a small tattoo on his chest.  “Oh, that’s… that’s my dad’s name.  I have my mom’s tattooed right here, too.  Got them when they died, but we really don’t have to talk about that right now.  Change the subject.”

                “What’s your name?”

                “Whatever you want it to be.”

                He wakes up to a few hundred dollars on the night stand.  Why did he think this would be any different?  Why? Why? Why?!!!  “Rule Number One, idiot, freaking number ONE.”

                He gets up, gets dressed, and grabs the cash.  He’s almost to the door when he hears a sleepy voice behind him.

                “Leaving before breakfast?”

                “You made breakfast?”

                Derek shakes his head.  “Does it look like I know how to cook?  Room service will be up in a few minutes.”

                “Oh.”  He sets his bag of extra clothes down and follows Derek to the couch.  It feels good when Derek runs his fingers through his hair.

                “What’s your name?”

                “I told you.  Whatever you want…”

                “No.”  Derek is earnest, “Tell me YOUR name.”

                “Stiles.”

                “My name is Derek.  I’m not sure if I told you that either.”

                “You didn’t.”

                “Stiles?”

                “Yes, Derek.”

                Derek stands.  “I know I’m going to regret this, so I’m not sure why I’m doing it.  But, there is a… This week is full of meetings for me.  Lunch meetings, dinner meetings, just, lots of meetings.  I always go alone, and my uncle always…”  He shakes his head.  “If I pay you, will you…”

                “I’m not an escort.”

                “But, if I pay you…”

                Stiles laughs bitterly.  “You think I’ll do anything for money?!”

                “An escort is a lot better than some of the things you’ve done!”

                If looks could kill, the tall, dark, and handsome man would be dead.  “YOU DON’T KNOW ME!”

                “You’re a hooker.  I know that.”

                “I didn’t choose this!  I… I came from a good family.”

                “They all do.”

                Stiles attacks him and beats his fists into his chest.  “I DID!”  He’s crying now.  “I was going to college!  Halfway done, getting good grades too.  I was on my way to class one day when I got the call.  My parents were all the family I had, and then suddenly they were gone, too.  Drunk drivers suck, you know?!  They were good people, gave to the poor, paid taxes, recycled, church every Sunday.  None of that saved them.  None of that saved me!

                “We didn’t have much insurance, and I wasn’t putting them down in a freaking pine box.  So, by the time everything was paid for, I didn’t have anything left.  I got a job.  A REAL JOB, but that didn’t help either.  I had to drop out, couldn’t pay for my apartment.  I had to do SOMETHING.  And, like I said, I don’t take charity.  Where else can you get close to a grand in one day?”

                “I’m sorry,” Derek confesses.

                “Oh, forget you!  Forget you and your stupid seat warmers!”  Stiles flings the door open and storms out—right into the room service cart.

                While Derek assures the hotel that he will pay for the broken china, Stiles peels out of his food-covered clothes and hops into the shower.  It’s like lava in there, so he turns it down to a bearable temperature.  By the time he is clean and actually wants to get out of the shower, the second tray of breakfast has arrived.

                He sits down to the table.  He scrunches up his face.  “Ew, what is this?”

                “Eggs benedict with hollandaise sauce.”

                “You couldn’t have ordered pancakes?  Seriously, do they not have Lucky Charms?”

                Derek groans and picks up the phone again.

                “No, dude.  There’s always tomorrow, right?”

                Derek looks at him.  “You’ll do it?”

                “How much money are we talking here?”

                Derek considers things.  “Two thousand.”

                “Ha! No way.”  Stiles jabs the so called eggs with his fork.  “Three.”

                “Fine.  Three thousand.”

                Stiles puts out his hand, and Derek shakes it.  “I would have stayed for two thousand.”

                Derek smiles a wolfish smile.  “I would have paid four.”

                Stiles jumps into the bed and snuggles into its luxury.  Never in his life has he been in a bed that felt this good.  He grabs the remote control from the night stand and starts pressing all the shiny buttons.  The fireplace bursts to life, the window curtains open and close, coffee starts to percolate in the kitchen.

                Suddenly, Derek emits a high pitched yelp from the bathroom.  Wrapped in a towel, he stomps into the bedroom and snatches the remote away from the prostitute.  “I prefer not to bathe in ice water!”

                Stiles shrugs his shoulders.  “I prefer not to bathe in lava.”

                Derek forcefully rolls his eyes and huffs a burst of air through his nose.  He looks at the clock.  Two hours in, and he’s regretting it already.

                When Derek comes back into the bedroom again, he dries off and relaxes on the bed.  Stiles props his head up on Derek’s still bare chest.  “So, what exactly do I gotta do?  I mean, I’ve never been an escort before.  Do you want me to just hang on your arm all evening?”

                “Be there with me.  Talk when appropriate.  Don’t let my uncle know you’re an escort.  Simple as that.”

Chapter Text

                Derek does in fact have to work the next day.  He gets up out of bed and starts getting ready for the day.  He briefly turns around to look at the figure still snoring softly in the bed.  Shaking his head, he turns back to the closet.

                He’s sick of Armani.  Why didn’t he bring another brand with him on this business trip?  One day of Gucci or Tom Ford would have been a nice change of pace.  And he’s saving his Dormeuil for tonight.  He settles for an old Armani two piece and enters the bathroom to make the final touches to his beard.

                It’s extremely awkward when he returns and finds Stiles still asleep.  It is after 6:00 am after all.  Should he say something?  Or just leave?  Why did he have to start having emotions?  Why did he even ask him to stay?

                The first dinner meeting is this evening.  The restaurant so fancy that the old hand me downs he gave Stiles yesterday would make Beacon Industries the laughing stock of the whole western hemisphere.  He sighs so loudly that the boy begins to stir.

                He clears his throat to fully wake the escort up.

                “You’ll need clothes.”

                Stiles yawns.  “Yeah.  I was planning on wearing some.”

                Derek pinches the bridge of his nose.  “No.  I mean, you’ll need something better that what I gave you.  The meeting tonight is very important.  If anything messes this up, my uncle…”

                “Right.”  Stiles shakes his head.  “So, I’ll just… go and grab something.”

                “Grab something?”  The look of shock and disgust are clear on Derek’s face.  “One cannot simply grab something when…  When…  We’re talking about Maison de Sel!”

                “Maison de Sel.  OMGosh, Derek.  Maison de Sel!  I didn’t realize.  Wow.  I mean, how could I have even considered!”  Stiles rolls his eyes and rolls over in the bed.  He smashes his face into the heavenly smoothness and snorts.  “Fine, Derek.  I’ll get something nice,” he mumbles.  “You can trust me.”

                Derek straightens his cuff links and speaks to the back of the prostitute’s head.  “I’ll have my driver take you somewhere nice.  Make sure to tell them my name.  That way they’ll have it done by tonight.”

                Stiles nods.

                “Stiles.”  He doesn’t continue until the boy sits up and looks at him.  He flicks a card out between his fingers.  “Use this.  Be back by 5:00.”

                The young man takes and looks at the card.  “Amex Centurion.  How did I not guess?”

                Stiles feels so out of place.  He looks nice enough in the suit Derek gave him, but the style is so last year.  Not like Stiles would have noticed that, but he can tell everyone else here does.  His hands jitter as he tries to keep himself from chewing on his thumbnail- the last time he did that the glares he received literally killed a piece of his soul.

                So now, he’s standing there… on this pedestal thing with mirrors all around.  The bright lights are blinding and show exactly how pale and somewhat gaunt he looks.  He’s never done drugs a day in his life, but for some reason it looks like it.  He wants to shrink away and hide.

                The man jostling his balls while measuring the inseam startles him and he squeals.  He wants to say, “No money, no touchy” but he has already embarrassed himself enough for the day as it is.

                He doesn’t trust himself enough to choose the linings and things like that, so he asks them to choose for him.  Told he should come back in precisely four hours, he decides to take a little walk.

                Outside of that store, people treat him differently.  He receives smiles and nods instead of looks of disgust.  He doesn’t really know how to handle it.  He’s not this person.  He’s not a man in a suit.  He’s a prostitute and a sad excuse of one at that.  He crosses the street and heads to a food stand near the park.  He has the money from his first night with Derek in his pocket, but he wants to have enough for the suit, so he only gets one hot dog instead of two.  Yeah, yeah, he gave him the credit card, but like he already established- he’s not into charity.

                He walks around a little aimlessly for a few hours and then heads back to the suit place.  The man at the entrance opens the door for him, and Stiles politely smiles and says thank you.  He’s a bit early, so he sits in the large foyer on the polished couches.  He jiggles his legs as the time passes by.

                Finally, a man comes out and tells him it is ready.  Stiles follows him back to another fitting room.  This one is a bit smaller.  With the mirrors that much closer to him, he can see a smudge of mascara still stuck to the corner of his eye.  Even after multiple showers… Wow- that creep in the truck went all out for the waterproof.  He deflates again.  Reminded again that he is not this person.  He is not this man in a suit.  He’s… nothing.

                He takes off the suit Derek gave him and lays it on a chair while he puts on the new outfit.  It is absolutely amazing.  Soft yet crisp and forming to his body like it was made for him… because it was.  It’s perfect.

                The attendant returns a moment later and cautiously picks up the old suit.  “I’ll dispose of this for you.”

                Stiles startles, “No!”  He runs his fingers through his unruly hair.  “I mean.  I think I’ll wear it out instead of this one.  Wouldn’t want anyone to see me in this one before this evening.”

                The man’s face twists as if he has smelled cooked asparagus dipped in spoiled milk.

                Stiles clears his throat.  “Upon returning to the hotel, I’ll have someone dispose of it immediately, I assure you.”

                “Of course.”

                Stiles shakes his head once the man is gone.  “That’s still a perfectly good suit,” he mumbles. 

                He handles the new suit carefully as he leaves the fitting room and closes the door.  He makes his way to a desk which he assumes is where he pays.  The gentleman in front of him nods and opens a large book.  The pages within the styled leather are thick and ornate.  A thought from his childhood suddenly strikes him.  He remembers going to church with his parents.  It’s like his final judgement.  He knows for sure with what he’s done that his name isn’t written there.

                He’s so lost in his own thoughts he doesn’t hear the man at first.  “Sir.”  The man tries again, “Sir.”

                “Yeah?  Sorry.”

                “It’s under the Hale account, correct?”

                “Yes, sir.” Stiles pulls out the small pouch he bought from the Hotel and opens it to take out his folded money.

                “That will be “$35,952.”

                Stiles tries to play off the way he chokes and hands over the credit card instead.

                He stands in the hotel room staring at the suit as it hangs on the garment rack.  “Holy crap.  Hooooly crap.”  He holds the phone up to his ear with his shoulder so he can reach out and touch the suit again.  “Yes, dude.  I’m serious.  Thirty five freakin’ thousand dollars.”

                “Is it made of solid gold, or what?” The man on the other end of the line responds.

                “Must be.”  Stiles shakes his head.  “Dude, how is this my life?”

                “Does he have any friends?  I’d totally be up for helping out one of his friends.  And I completely forgive you for not calling me sooner.  Yeah, at the time I thought you were dead, but now I can see… Wow.  Dude!  I was supposed to be with you that night.  This could have been me.”

                “Sorry ‘bout your luck, man.”

                “Liar.”

                Stiles laughs.  “I could have had a car.”  He shakes his head for the hundredth time today.  “This suit cost as much as a new car!”

                “Are you kidding?  If you got something used like my mom always does, you could have 13 cars.  Easy… Maybe more!”

                There’s a knock at the door and Stiles jumps.  “Hey, dude.  Sorry.  But I gotta go.  Somebody’s at the door.”

                “ ‘K man.  Just… Make sure you use protection.  And, rule number one.  Remember.  Don’t… Don’t forget.”

                Stiles lowers his head and fights back a smile.  “Yeah… ‘bout that.”

                “You didn’t!  DUDE!  Tell me you didn’t.”

                The knock at the door sounds again.  “Scotty, I gotta go.  Okay.  I’ll… I’ll talk to you later.”

                Stiles hangs up and rushes to the door.  He uses the peep hole to check who it is before opening it.  “Yes?”

                “The spa is ready.”

                “Spa?  Yeah…  No…” Stiles checks his wrist even though there’s not a watch there.  “Sorry, can’t.  My… brother told me to be back at 5:00.  So… definitely a no-ski on the spa-ski.”

                The… what is he a bell boy?  He looks like a bell boy… gestures down the hall.  “Your ‘brother’ also set up the spa session for his date tonight.  It was requested specifically that you go.”

                “Oh…” Stiles looks back into the room as if something will tell him whether he should go or not.  “Well, if he set it up…”  He goes to the hallway and closes the door.  He follows the bellboy down the hall.  “I’m not really his brother.”

                “Yes, I caught on to that quickly.”

                Stiles nods and quietly trails along.

                The spa is definitely more than just a spa.  He is soooooo not used to this.  He’s suddenly scared of turning into a Metro-sexual.  Like… this is just too much.  It’s not enough to get a manicure, but then there’s a hand massage.  Not enough for a pedicure, but a full foot and leg treatment.  There are oils he’s never heard of being sprinkled from marble containers.  Who puts rose petals, milk, and honey in their bathwater?  Not him, that’s for sure.  Eyebrows plucked- check.  Ears waxed- check.  Some weird thing with feathers- check.

                Swedish massage followed by a shiatsu… Then there’s this lady and some drapes and she’s literally massaging his body with her feet.  It’s like one of those weird circus acts… bizarre, but surprisingly pleasurable.

                Every inch of his body is exfoliated… most of it fully waxed.  Then there’s a hair stylist, and he’s totally in a Princess Diaries montage isn’t he?

                Derek stands by the head chair of the dining table in his room.  He checks his watch one more time.

                “Hey.”

                He turns.  Stiles stands there shyly.  He’s blushing, and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

                “I, um…” He starts to run his hand through his hair but suddenly remembers that it has been styled to perfection and stops.  He shakes his hand out beside him instead.  He motions to the door.  “I kept telling them that I needed to go, but they kept going.”

                “It’s okay.  Dinner is at nine.  We still have thirty minutes to get there.”  Derek lets his eyes roam over the boy.  “The suit looks nice.”

                Stiles nods and bites his lip.  “It should.”

                Derek makes his way to him.  “Stand up straight.  Stop slouching.  Have some confidence in yourself.  You look amazing.”

                The boy smiles.  “Really?”

                He cups Stiles’ cheek with his hand and pulls him in for a gentle kiss.  “Really.”  He takes his hand.  “Ready?”

                “As I’ll ever be.”

Chapter Text

                Stiles has never been in a restaurant like this before in his life.  It’s strange.  He came from a normal middle class family.  So, he definitely has heard of the things on the menu, but it’s not like he has ever tried them before.  He glances to Derek who is sitting beside him at the small bar near the front of the restaurant.  He’s leaning against the bar with his glass in his hand.  LEANING.  Stiles checks his crotch region to make sure nothing is showing through.  Leaning should not be this hot, but it is.

                And he’s screwed.  100% screwed.  Rule number one- don’t kiss the John.  Dang it.  This shouldn’t be happening.  He’s in way over his head.

                “You okay?” Derek asks as he catches the boy’s eye.

                “Yes,” Stiles lies.  “Totally fine.”  He taps the menu on the bar.  “What do you recommend, Mr. Hale?”

                “The Wagyu steak is very nice, but so is the Kobe.  It basically melts in your mouth.”

                “How much is that?”

                “Don’t worry about the price.  You’re not paying.”  Derek takes a sip of his liquor.  Lets it linger in his mouth before swallowing and continuing.  “The sides come separately.  They say that one dish is enough to serve three to four people, but don’t let them fool you- it’s barely a serving for one.”

                “I’ll keep that in mind.”  Stiles smiles.  An emotion too intense for the moment overcomes him and he looks away.  “So, what’s best for a side?”

                “Well,” Derek leans closer so he can point at different things on the menu.  “You’ll definitely want the house salad.  They have an amazing dressing.  Several people will order the grilled tomatoes with balsamic reduction, but have you ever actually tried a balsamic reduction?”  He puts a finger in his mouth and makes a gagging sound.

                Stiles laughs.  “Got it.”

                “The broccoli with garlic butter and cashews is delicious, though.”  He taps in a different section of the menu.  “Eggplant is okay, but the mushrooms are better.  The gnocchi is to die for.”

                “How do I pick just one?”

                “It’s a very difficult decision.”  Derek reaches out and strokes Stiles’ cheek.  Stiles stutters even though he wasn’t talking.  Derek is the first to look away, and he straightens.  “My favorite has to be the risotto.  You can choose hearts of palm risotto, red wine risotto, or butternut squash.  The hearts of palm is the best.”

                “Sounds… delicious?”

                “Trust me.”

                “I do.”  He looks back to the menu.  “But if I choose that, I’ll miss out on the au gratin potatoes and the honey roasted red potatoes and the garlic mashed potatoes…”

                Derek laughs.  “You really have a thing for potatoes, don’t you?

                “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  Stiles smiles again.  “Chicken is my favorite, though.  Chicken fingers, chicken breast, breaded chicken, chicken cutlets, chicken pot pie, frozen chicken after you unfreeze it.”

                Derek playfully smacks him on the arm.  “Are you trying to audition for the sequel of Forrest Gump?  Or are you purposefully quoting an old interview of an actor that no one even remembers.”

                “Hey, now.  EVERYONE remembers AND LOVES him!  Don’t diss, Dy…”

                “Hello, Derek!”

                Stiles is interrupted by a tall man in fine dress quickly approaching them.  He pulls Derek into a hug even though the young man cringes.

                “Peter.”  Derek practically squirms to get away from his tight grasp.

                “I’m so glad you could make it on time, nephew.  Last time there were some issues… if I remember correctly.”  His eyes slide past Derek and fall on Stiles.  He draws out his speech, “And who do we have here?”

                “Peter, this is Stiles…”

                Stiles stands and holds out a hand.  The look that Peter gives him is almost predatory.  As he approaches, Stiles feels like taking a step back.  But, he doesn’t need to.  Derek takes a small step in front of him.  “… My fiancé.”

                Peter stops.  Turning to Derek with a certain gleam in his eye, he seems about to call his nephew’s bluff.  Instead, he breaks into a large smile and hugs Derek once again.  “Congratulations!”

                Stiles’ eyes bulge as he locks contact with Derek.  Derek just shakes his head.  And then Peter’s focus is on Stiles again.  “Such a pleasure to meet you, Stiles.”

                “You as well.”  Stiles leans into Derek for support.

                Peter points to Stiles’ left hand.  “No ring, I see.”

                Stiles nods.  “We don’t feel the need to bow down to society’s outdated conventions and stereotypes.  And I’m not going to mention how rude it is to assume I should be the one wearing a ring.  I highly disapprove of your uneducated arrogance.”

                The man smirks.  Mouth almost curling into a snarl.  Turning to Derek once again, “I like him.”

                “Me too.”

                Peter makes a motion with his hand and an attendant is immediately beside him.  “We’re ready to be seated now.”

                “Of course, sir,” is the immediate reply.

                Stiles and Derek hang back a bit.

                “Fiancé?” Stiles asks incredulously.

                Derek hangs his head.  “I don’t handle things well when I’m with him.”  He shakes his head and sets his glass on the bar.  “I’m sorry.”

                “Oh, you so owe me four now.”

                “Agreed.”

                Dinner is somewhat awkward, but it goes well overall.  As Derek asked, Stiles only speaks when needed.  Stiles giggles when Derek makes the gagging gesture when half the businessmen order the tomatoes.  Other than that, Derek remains very formal.  It’s pretty boring actually.  Stiles understands about a fourth of what they’re talking about.  Not because he’s dumb, but because it’s so dull he just doesn’t pay attention.

                But, the food is delicious.  Stiles enjoys every bite of his Kobe filet.  And, Derek was right, the hearts of palm risotto is the best.  Overall, Stiles’ favorite part was the appetizers, though.  He’s not even used to greasy onion rings as an appetizer anymore let alone beef tips, oysters, calamari, polenta cakes with honey, shrimp, stuffed mushrooms, and caviar.  He tries one of each thing the waiter brings because YOLO, obviously.

                By the time the dessert tray comes around, Stiles is stuffed.  He longingly eyes the cart, but has to pass.  Dejection… Heartache…  Seriously, he’s a broken man.  That peanut butter tarte looks so good.

Derek and Stiles get in the Mercedes as soon as the valet has brought it around front.  Stiles lays his head against the headrest and moans as he turns the seat warmers on.  He reaches over to lace his fingers between Derek’s.

“Are any of the other dinner meetings at this glorious location?”

                “Unfortunately, no.  This was a make or break deal for us.  We had to go all out.  Even we can’t afford to spend $5,000 a meal every night.”

                “Oh my gosh,” Stiles shakes his head; eyes wide.  “How in the world…”

                “Your steak was $300 alone.”  Derek explains as he pulls onto the street.  “$20 to $50 an appetizer.  $35 for each side.  Plus drinks.  Multiplied by the three on our bill.  I understand how it gets so high.  But, we like to average no more than $1,000 a piece for a meal in general.”

                “Do you even realize how many people are starving?!  How many people that could feed?!”

                Derek shakes his head.  “We make large donations to charity annually.  That more than covers things.”

                “Tax write-off, I’m sure.”

                Derek pulls Stiles’ hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles.  “Let’s go home.”

                Stiles is gasping and moaning before they even get in the door to their suite.  Lips swollen from the harsh kissing.  Dick raw from the friction of the humping session halfway down the hall.  As the door finally swings open, Stiles wraps his legs around his partner.  Derek slams him into the wall.

                Derek bites at Stiles’ neck and the young boy screams in pleasure.  He’s about to come in his pants, and it’s been so long since he felt this way.  Wanted.  Appreciated.  Like he meant something.

                “Suit.  Off.”

                “Huh?”  His lust filled brain can’t make out words at this point.  Eyes closed.  All he can focus on is the tight feeling in his stomach.  The throbbing…

                “Suit.  Off.  Before I rip it off.  And I really don’t want to do that.  I saw the bill.”

                “Bill… suit… yeah.”

                “Stiles.  Focus.”

                Stiles opens his eyes for the first time since the biting began.  His lips part.  Full and pink.  He gently removes the jacket.  Taking the pants off is agonizing.  He allows Derek to carefully lay them on the table.  He can see multiple bags and containers that have been delivered there.  “Wha’s s’at?”

                “Later.  You’ll see.”

                Stiles quickly unbuttons his shirt and leaves it behind as he is pulled to the bedroom.  Where he is completely ravished.

                After coming… twice… Stiles leans up on Derek’s chest.  “What was on the table?”

                “A midnight snack.”

                Stiles gets up and Derek follows him to the table.  Stiles recognizes the logo from Maison de Sel.

                “I knew you had a hard time choosing your side dish.  And I knew you didn’t get to have dessert.  So… So I ordered one of each.”

                And in that moment, Stiles knows he’s in love.  He looks at the array of food in front of him.  He counts over the boxes… $35 each multiplied by… “Holy crap, Derek.  This is at least $600 worth of food.”

                “You’re worth it.”  Derek pulls Stiles’ arm back to twirl him around.  This kiss is gentle.  It’s nice.  It’s home.

                The next several hours are a blur of sex and food.  Food and sex.  And Stiles thoroughly enjoys every minute of it.  And that peanut butter tarte… might be better than the sex.  They lay around all morning until the alarm goes off at 10 am.  Derek runs a hand over his face and turns the sound off.  He lays there a moment longer, but then peels himself from the blankets and sits up.

                “No,” Stiles whines.

                “There’s a lunch meeting today.  If we don’t get ready now, we’ll miss it.”  Derek starts to stand.

Stiles grabs his shoulder and works to pull him back.  “No.  Can’t we stay?  What’s… what’s one meeting?”

“The only reason we’re doing this is because of the meeting.”  Derek takes Stiles’ hand and gently removes it from where it touches his body.

                Stiles is frozen for a moment.  But then he closes his eyes.  His lips part slightly.  “Right,” he whispers.  He looks up and away… toward a light.  He heard once that doing that stops tears from coming.

Chapter Text

                Stiles is quiet during lunch.  He nods when spoken to.  Maybe mumbles a few words.  There are no smiles.  No light in his eyes.  He spins his fork in the spaghetti on his plate, but never puts it to his mouth.

                Both Hale men cast glances his way.  He doesn’t pay any attention to them.  Prods at a meatball instead.

                Derek reaches over and takes Stiles’ hand.  “Stiles, are you okay?”

                Stiles shakes his head and looks at Derek.  “I’m not hungry.”  He scans his eyes across the table of men now watching him intently.  “I’m sorry.  Excuse me.”  The chair scrapes across the floor as he stands and sprints out of the room.

                The wooden bathroom door slightly squeaks, and Stiles glances into the mirror to see who is behind him.  Seeing that it is in fact Derek, he lowers his head again and braces himself against the marble counter.

                “What happened back there?”  Derek places his hand on Stiles’ shoulder, but the boy pulls away.

                “I shouldn’t be here.  I can’t do this.”

                “Can’t do what?”  Derek tries again to get Stiles to look at him.

                “THIS!”  Stiles flails his arms.  He gestures between them.  “Whatever crazy scenario this is.  I can’t do this.”  He moves out of Derek’s reach and pulls off his jacket.  “I need to go.  We need to forget about this.  The deal is off.  I’ll give you back everything.  I just can’t… do this.”

                “I did something,” Derek guesses.  Darn those pesky feelings.

                “No, I did something.  I let myself dream.”

                “Why can’t you dream?”

                “Because I’m ME!”  Stiles, in a moment of absolute fury, grabs the ornamental soap dispenser and throws it through a standing mirror.  The pieces shatter and fall to the floor.  “I’m NOTHING!” he screams.  “I’m nothing,” he whispers.

                “Stop it,” Derek grabs his shoulders and marches him over to the large mirror that remains intact.  “Look in the mirror.”  He grabs Stiles’ chin and forces him to turn his head when he refuses.  “Look at yourself.”

                “I know what I look like.”

                “No, look at yourself.  Look at your eyes.  See how they shimmer?  There’s a light in them.  A light that still hasn’t gone out even after all this time.  Look at your mouth.  That mouth creates the most gorgeous smile I’ve ever seen.  Look at your skin.  Look at the muscles underneath.  Look inside- your heart is pure.  You are perfection.”

                Stiles meets Derek’s eyes through the mirror.  “What are we?  Please tell me what on earth you are feeling about me because I’m really effing confused right now.”

                Derek looks away.  “I’m not sure.”

                “That doesn’t really help me out any.”

                “I use people.”  Derek looks back into Stiles’ eyes through the mirror.  “That’s what I do.  In business and in my personal life.  That comment Peter made last night about me being late last time?  I was pounding the CEO’s niece in her hotel room to make sure she put in a good word for me.  Whispering in her ear between her moans that she meant everything to me all the while knowing I was going to be with my actual girlfriend the next night telling her the same things.”

Derek releases his grip on Stiles’ shoulders and takes a step away.  “I told you, Stiles.  My heart isn’t good.  It would never work out between us.”

                “Of course it wouldn’t,” Stiles turns around to follow Derek with his eyes.

                “But, it doesn’t mean that I don’t want it to.”

                “You want things to work out with me?  Three more days and I go back to being the worst prostitute in New York City!”

                Derek finally turns to him again.  “Or, in three more days you go and pay off your pimp.  Grab any belongings you have.  And, you get out while you can!”

                “Four thousand dollars is all I have to my name, Seatwarmers.”  He kicks at the shattered pieces of glass.  “You think that’s enough to get me out of this life?”

                “It’s a start.”

                “You don’t get it.”  He shakes his head.  “But how could you?  If four thousand dollars could get me out of this mess, I would have never been in it.”

                “How much would you need?” Derek offers.

                “Don’t,” Stiles points his finger at him and fights back a sad smile.  “I’ve already told you.  I don’t do charity.”

                “I’m a businessman.  Call it an investment instead.”  Derek takes a moment to wrap Stiles in a hug and kiss his forehead before stepping back again.  “What do you want to do in life?  What is your dream?”

                “I already told you.  I can’t do that.  I can’t go there.  It hurts too bad when I have to face reality again.”

                “What’s your dream?”

                At the sincerity in his voice, Stiles lets himself feel.  “I want to be a photographer.  I… I can see things that other people can’t.  Or, at least I think I can.  I don’t know.  Maybe I can’t.”

                “Hey, stop.  Believe in yourself.  Don’t doubt.”

                Stiles puts his hands on Derek’s waist.  “Your turn.  What’s your dream?”

                Derek smiles, but he turns and leaves the room.

                “We lost the account” aren’t the words Stiles wants to hear when he gets back to the table and only sees Derek still seated.

                “Oh my gosh, because of me!?!”  Stiles collapses into his chair.  “Please tell me it wasn’t because of me.”

                “It wasn’t because of you.”

                “Good.”

                “It was because one of them said something about my ‘crazy fiancé’ and I threw your plate of spaghetti in their face.”

                Stiles’ jaw drops open.  “No.  No, no, no.  Please tell me you didn’t do that.”

                “I did.”

                And with that Derek laughs.  Full on belly laugh.  His eyes crinkle.  It’s nice.

                The next day, Stiles stays at the hotel all day while Derek works.  It’s a close one, but he manages to sneak Scott in the service entrance.

                The kid is in awe.  “This is where you’ve been staying?!”

                Stiles grabs his arm and bounces up and down.  “YES!!!”  He squeals.  “Let me give you the grand tour.”

                If they giggle like schoolgirls having a slumber party all day long, that’s for them to know and no one else.  If they jump on the bed and smack each other with pillows, no one will know after all the feathers are cleaned up.  They order room service and watch movies for hours on end and fall asleep curled up in each other’s arms.

                “Is he good to you?” Scott asks.

                “He tries.”  Stiles throws some popcorn into his friend’s open mouth.  “Better than anyone else I’ve ever had.”

                “That’s good.  I’m glad.”

                “It’s not forever.  So… You don’t get to be glad.”

                Scott rubs a hand across the top of Stiles’ head in a loving, brotherly way.  “I mean.  At least you’ve had these days.  At least this has been good.  I’m happy for you.  You’ve been able to have an amazing experience.”

                Stiles stands and walks over to his bag.  He opens up the small pouch and takes some money out.  He crawls back over to Scott.  “Take this.”

                “What?  No.”  He pushes Stiles’ hand and money away.

                “Please, Scotty.”  Stiles holds the back of his friend’s neck and looks deep into his eyes.  “I want you to take this.  If there’s ever a time that I’m not around to keep an eye on you… I need to know… I need to know that I’ve been able to help you.”

                “What do you mean?  Why wouldn’t you be around?”  Scott feels Stiles force the money into his hand.  “Are you going to stay with him?  Did he ask you to stay?”

                “No.  Don’t…  It’s nothing.”  Stiles lets go and turns his attention back to the TV.  “I’m not going anywhere.  Don’t worry.  I just want you to know… that I tried.”

                “See ya, Scotty,” Stiles hugs his friend before shutting the service door behind him.  Then, he turns to head back to Derek’s room to get ready for the dinner meeting.

                Stiles bounces into the suite.  Humming as he locks the door.

“How’s Jeremy been doing without you?”

                Stiles freezes.  He turns around, eyes blown wide.

“Yes,” Peter laughs.  “I thought that was you.”  He moves quickly and is in Stiles’ personal space within a matter of seconds.  He grazes his fingers across the side of Stiles’ head.  “The one who came to pick up that slut with the crooked jaw when he got in a little over his head.”

                Stiles steps back as far as he can before crashing into the wall.  “Stop.”

                Peter puts his hand around Stiles’ waist.  Fingers pulling at the fabric.  Sliding between the waistband… touching his skin.

                “Please.”  He doesn’t know when the tears started, but they’re flowing freely.  He gasps as he feels the man’s lips on his neck.

                “Shhh…  I have the money.”

                “I don’t want your freaking money.”  Stiles raises his arms and pushes at the creepy man’s shoulders.  “Get off of me.”

                “How about get off on you instead?”

                “Peter, please.  Stop.”  Stiles tries again.  “I’m not… I don’t want to be…”

                “Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater, had a wife and couldn’t keep her…”  He pushes Stiles down to his knees and jerks his head upward.  Looks into his eyes.  “You know the meaning behind that little rhyme, right?  The wife that couldn’t be kept?  Once a prostitute, always a prostitute.  Right, Stiles?”

                “What do you think you’re doing?!” Derek roars as he steps through the door.  He grabs Peter by the neck and throws him across the room.

                Stiles sinks to the floor and curls into himself.

                “So suddenly you own him?!”  Peter growls as he picks himself up from the tile floor.  “He’s a prostitute, nephew.  Open for business to everyone.  No shirt; no shoes; no problem.”

                Derek’s fist connecting with Peter’s face immediately breaks bones.  His nose is literally crooked when Stiles has the courage to look.

                “You broke my nose!”

                “Get out of my sight before I decide to break worse!” Derek snarls.

                Peter spits blood onto the ground near Stiles and storms out of the hotel room.  Derek slams the door shut and punches a hole in the drywall for good measure.  Once he gets his breathing under control, he finally turns to Stiles.  “Are you okay?”

                Stiles covers his face with his hands and completely breaks down.

Chapter Text

                Derek skips the business meeting.  He and Stiles go swimming instead.  They have the indoor pool entirely to themselves.  Stiles is quiet.  Just bobs up and down and floats in Derek’s arms.  He starts to act more like himself again when they’re back in their room, and he is cuddled up in a pair of soft hotel pajamas.

                “How can you stand to wear those things?”

                Stiles shrugs, sitting cross legged in the bed.  “I dunno.  They’re just nice.”  He swirls the coffee around in the mug he holds in his hands.  Takes a sip.  “Much better than those things you wear.”

                Derek holds his arms out, looking at the silk set he is wearing.  “What’s wrong with these?”

Stiles just rolls his eyes.  He sets down the mug when Derek lies down in bed.  Stiles crawls over and lies in his arms.  He nestles his head into the crook of Derek’s arm and stares up at the ceiling.  “Christmas.”

                “What?” Derek questions.

                “These pajamas.  I think I like them because of Christmas.”  Stiles closes his eyes against the memory.  “The three of us would wear matching pajamas.  They were soft and fluffy like this pair.  Way too hot to actually wear to bed, but just the right warmth to wear while eating fresh baked cookies and sneaking a peek under the tree.”

                Derek bumps his chin against the top of the boy’s head.  “I never had a tree.”

                “What?  Why?”

                “Well, we did when I was extremely little.  But, that’s too hard to remember.  When I was nine, my family died in a fire.  My mom, dad, and sister.”

                “I’m sorry, Derek.”  Stiles sits up and turns so he can face him.

“My uncle raised me.  Adopted me.  Pretty sure it was just an attempt to gain control of the money I got from life insurance.

                “That’s awful.”

                “You asked me what my dream was.”

                Stiles is quiet, unsure if he should speak or just wait until he chooses to continue.

                “I want out.  I don’t want to be CEO of a company that lies and cheats its way to the top.  I don’t want to have to work with my psychopath uncle!”

                “Then why do you stay?”

                “It was my mom’s company.  I can’t just leave.  If I did, Peter would step up into my place.  How could I let him take over what my mother worked so hard for?”

                Stiles rolls his eyes, “Ever think of just firing him?”

                “Fire my uncle?”  Derek shakes his head.  “He would never speak to me again.”

                “Perfect!” Stiles smiles.

                Derek rolls and smiles as he pins Stiles to the bed.  “I love you.”

                Stiles answers by raising up and capturing Derek’s lips in a kiss.

                The next days go by in a blissful blur.  Things are great until they aren’t.  The final lunch meeting comes around, and Derek assures Stiles that he doesn’t need to go.

                “I don’t want you to be around Peter.  He’s sure to be there.  I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself if you’re both in the same room.”

                “I can handle it,” Stiles assures.  “And what about the deal?”

                “We haven’t been following through on the deal in a long time, you know that.”  Derek kisses him.  “Please, just don’t go with me today.  Take some money and go out somewhere.  Go explore, or shop, or something.  Go somewhere nice and enjoy the whole day.  Don’t come back until late.”

                “Derek,” Stiles pulls away, “it feels kinda like you’re trying to get rid of me.”

                “Don’t be stupid,” Derek walks to the closet.  “Why would I want to get rid of you?”

                Derek said to stay out until late, but Stiles can’t help it.  It’s starting to rain, and it’s so cold that it’s turning to ice.  It’s earlier than he assured Derek he’d be out, but it’s late enough that the meeting should be getting over at any time.  He jogs down the hall and pulls the key out to unlock the door.

                But, it’s already unlocked… slightly ajar.

                Stiles pushes it the rest of the way open.  “Derek?  You back?”

                There are clothes in the floor.  Jacket, shirt, socks, and… bra?  Stiles looks toward the bedroom when he hears a moan.

                He doesn’t want to look, but he can’t let himself not look at the same time.  He walks to the bedroom, turns the door handle, steps inside.

                He’s going to be sick.

                “Love you… love you so, so much”

                Stiles cringes at the words he hears Derek speak.  He quickly moves back out of the room and turns… Straight into Peter.

                Stiles yelps.

                “Stop.  Wait,” Peter holds up his hands.  “I won’t hurt you.”  He points to the splint on his nose, “learned that lesson already.”

                Stiles steps away anyway.

                “Is Derek here?  The meeting wasn’t going well.  He excused himself, saying he knew what to do to fix things… But he never came back.”

                Stiles doesn’t speak.  Just walks back to the door and leaves.

--------

                Derek wakes up with a pounding headache.  Turns his head to see what time it is.  10:00 pm.  By the alarm clock, he finds a glass of water and some Tylenol.  As he tries to sit up, he notices a heavy weight on him.  When he looks, he sees a woman he has never seen before.

                He hasn’t been this confused since that time in college…

                He jumps out of bed but immediately regrets it.  He rips the bedroom door open and scans the main room.

                Peter has made himself at home on the couch.  Pretending to warm himself by the fire when he knows good and well that it’s only there for aesthetics.

                Derek screams, “What did you do?!”

                “Welcome back, nephew.”

                “Oh, don’t… Don’t even…”  Derek marches up to him.  “You drugged me?!”

                “You seemed stressed… thought you might like to relax.”

                Derek turns to look around the room again.  “Stiles… He should have been back.”

                “Oh he was,” Peter smiles a wolfish grin.  “He left fairly quickly.  Seemed to be in a hurry.”

                “WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

                “What… Can’t I have a little joke?”

                Derek grabs him by the lapels on his suit.  “You. Are. A. Psychopath!!!!”  He pushes the older man back.  “Get out.  Get out!  Out of this room.  Out of this hotel.  Out of this company!!!  You are done.  You’re fired.”

                “You can’t fire me.”

                “Watch me.”  Derek grabs his coat and runs out of the room.

                Derek skids to a stop at the front desk.  “Did you see where Stiles went?”

                “Who, sir?”

                “The man who has been staying with me.  Stiles…”  Derek turns around.  He sees the valet and runs to him.  “Sir, please, do you know where Stiles went?”

                “The gentleman left several hours ago.”  The man shakes his head.  “He was in a hurry.  Left on foot.”

                “Get my car.”  When the man doesn’t move, Derek is harsh.  “NOW!”

                Derek drives around and around.  Unsure of where to go.  He tries all of the spots they went together.  He even tries the alley, but there is no trace of him.

                He sighs as he returns to his empty suite.  How can this be happening?

                When the phone rings, he rushes to it.  “Hello?”

                “He- Hello?”

                “Who’s this?”

                “Is Stiles there?”

                It’s a man.  He sounds like he’s been crying.  “Who is this?”

                “It’s Scott.  I’m a friend of Stiles.”  Pause.  “He called me from this number a few times.  Is… is he there?”

                “No.  Have you heard from him at all today?  Have you seen him?!”  Derek knows he shouldn’t be yelling, but he can’t help it.

                “He…” Scott’s definitely crying.  “He came by our apartment a few hours ago.  He… He gave me some money and then he left.”

                Derek paces as far as the cord on the phone will allow.  “Did he take anything with him?  Any of his belongings?”

                “N- no.”  Sob.  “He was acting so weird.  He said… he said he couldn’t do it anymore.  Th- that he was done.  That he was finished.”

                “What do you mean, he was finished?”

                “Are you sure he isn’t there?”

                “DO YOU THINK I’D BE THIS PANICKED IF HE WERE HERE?!?!”  Derek breathes in through his nose.  He’s making things worse.

                “What’s he gonna do?  Is he gonna… is he gonna…” Scott is broken.

                “Scott,” Derek breathes.  “Where are you?  I’m coming there.”

                Scott clings to Derek when he arrives at the apartment even though it’s the first time they’ve ever met.  Derek is finally able to get him to breathe evenly, so that’s one positive.

                Derek looks around the small, dirty room.  “Are you sure he didn’t take anything with him?”

                Scott shakes his head.  “He was inside when I got home, but I didn’t see him have anything.  He didn’t carry anything out.”

                “How much money did he give you?”

                Scott holds it out.  “Almost four thousand dollars.”

                “Dang it, Stiles!”  Derek holds his head in his hands.  “This is all my fault.”

                “He’s going to do it, isn’t he?  He’s gonna… I’m never going to see my best friend again!”  Scott sinks to the ground and starts to cry all over again.

                Derek goes back to the apartment a week later and forces Scott to pack up everything and come back to the hotel with him.  They carefully put Stiles’ personal effects into boxes and seal them up.  They don’t have much of a problem with Jeremy.  He says Scott wasn’t lucrative anyway.

                Scott stays in a room next door to Derek’s suite.  It’s close enough for Derek to keep an eye on him, but lets him have his own space at the same time.

                More weeks go by.  Soon, it’s a month.

                Derek is in his office when the mail is delivered.  He absentmindedly shuffles through the envelopes, but one catches his eye.  It’s a cancellation notice from American Express.  He opens it.

                His Amex Centurion card has been cancelled.  That’s ludicrous.  He pulls his wallet out of his pocket and rifles through the contents.  The card isn’t there.  He drops the wallet on the desk and picks up the letter again.  He flips through the pages.  Finds the recent transactions.  A cheap hotel’s single night fee.  A plane ticket.  A camera.

                Derek stands.  He turns to the last page.  The note attached to the request for cancellation reads simply “An Investment.”

Chapter Text

                Derek drops the cancellation request onto his desk.  He doesn’t know what to do.  Doesn’t know what to think.  Can this really be happening?  He places his wallet back in his pocket, grabs the cancellation pages and starts shoving everything quickly into his briefcase.  Within five minutes of opening the envelope, he is in his Mercedes headed toward his hotel.

                He crashes into the suite and immediately grabs his laptop.  He pulls out his cell phone and makes a call to the credit card company.  Simultaneously researching on his own and gaining information from the company files, he is able to discover the destination of the plane ticket matches online articles detailing a fatal accident.  Stiles went home.

                And Derek will, too.  That night, he’s boarding a plane for Beacon County.

                The flight is long and tense.  Crying babies and someone with motion sickness.  Derek tries to zone out and think only of Stiles.  It’s still going to take work to find him.  He knows Stiles initially flew to Beacon County, California, but he doesn’t have much of a trail after that.  He knows where Stiles’ parents’ house was, but it has been off the market for close to a decade.  All he really has to go on is the name of the cemetery they are interred at.

                When he lands, he immediately pulls out his phone and calls Scott.  The boy answers on the first ring.

                “I made it,” Derek assures.  “Scott, do you remember him saying anything about his past?  Anything more than you’ve already told me?”

                “No, Derek,” he replies.  “I’m sorry.  He honestly never talked about his past.  There were days that he would say things… but not important.  Nothing that would help you now.”

                “It’s okay.  I’ll find him.”  Derek walks into the baggage collection area but continues walking…  He packed light.  Didn’t need much.  He shifts the small carry-on duffel bag higher on his shoulder and leaves the airport.

                It’s warmer in California.  It’s nice.  The air seems pure and refreshing.  Out of the big city, everything seems clearer.  He wishes he could start his search tonight, but there’s no use.  He pays for a small hotel room and rests fitfully for the few remaining hours until daybreak.

                He heads to the cemetery at 6 am.  Questions everyone he sees.  The office is able to direct him to the correct plots, but it’s the groundskeeper that helps him the most.  He’s a young man.  Big eyes.  Soft curly hair.  Tall, almost lanky.  Shy but friendly.

                “Actually, there has been someone.”  He glances down the path… nervous.  “Wasn’t anyone to visit for years.  Then, one day I noticed flowers.  I’ve seen him.”  Again, he looks.  Scared in a way that Derek reaches out to him.  He jerks away from the touch, clearly hurt in the past.  He clears his throat and speaks again.  “I’ve seen a guy.  About my age.  I started to notice him here just about every day.  For the last week, though, it’s been about every other day.”

                “Is there a certain time of day he tends to come?” Derek begs.

                “Usually later.  About 5:30 or so.  I guess after he gets off work.”

                Derek nods.  “Have you ever spoken to him?”

                “No.”  He glances away, ducks his head.  “He wouldn’t associate with someone like me.  He’s always dressed so nice.  People like that don’t talk to me.”

                Derek glances down at his own suit.  He looks back at the boy and motions to himself.  “I’m talking to you, aren’t I?  You’d be surprised how looks can be deceiving.”  He steps back from the boy.  “Thank you for all of your help.”

                Derek stays at the cemetery all day.  No one comes.

                The next day, same as the first.

                He finally begins to wonder if Stiles has seen him hanging around and has purposefully stayed away.  He decides to leave a note.  Something that will let Stiles know how he feels.

                “Peter drugged me.  I didn’t mean to hurt you.  Please come on Thursday, I’ll be here.”

                Staying away for so long almost kills Derek.  Not knowing if this will work or not.  He’s never been a patient person.  It’s always been so easy to get what he wants when he wants it.  He finally goes to the cemetery again on Thursday, just like he said.  He approaches the set of stones slowly.

                He can see the note right where he left it, and he deflates a bit.  He stands and looks at the stones.  Mother and Father.  The dates far too close together.  Gone all too soon.  He hangs his head, defeated.

                “Stiles, please.”

                “Hey, Seatwarmers.”

                Startled, Derek jerks around.  His eyes fall on the man now in front of him.  Hair still styled.  Eyes still bright.  One of Derek’s suits that amazingly fit so well.  Camera hanging from this neck… a nice one.  Skin pale but now suddenly blushed.  Looking so alive.

                “I read the note.”

                “And?”

                Stiles crashes into him and lets himself be enveloped in a hug.

                Derek breathes him in.  Immediately calms.  Feels at home.  “I never meant to hurt you.”

                Stiles nods.  “I know,” he mumbles.

                “We tried to find you.”

                “We?”

                “Scott and I.” Derek pulls away but keeps his hands firmly planted on Stiles’ arms.  “He’s worried sick.  I was worried sick.”

                “I’m sorry.”  Stiles looks away.  “I panicked.  I didn’t know what to do.  You let me dream, and I couldn’t go back to what I was before.  I had a chance to start fresh, so I did.”

                “How?  You gave your money to Scott, and all you took was money for the plane and the camera.”  Now, Derek lets Stiles step back.  Assured that he really is standing here with him.

                “I had hope this time.  I didn’t have much, but I had enough.  Used your card to get a small apartment before I cancelled it.”

                Derek shakes his head, “What did you plan to do when they found out the card wasn’t any good?”

                “Pay it off myself.”  He turns the camera on and pulls up the memory card.  Flashes a few pictures across the small screen.  “I got a gig taking portraits at the annual Police Ball after I mentioned my father’s name.  They recommended me to the newspaper because they were looking for someone to take some photos for an article.  It went over really good.”  Stiles smiles.  “Got the attention of an art studio a town over.  I start full time on Monday.”

                “That’s great, Stiles.”

                “You saved me.”

                “No, you saved me.”  Derek hugs Stiles once again.  “I fired Peter.  You were right.  I don’t need him.  I’m turning the company around.  No more of his lies.  No more of the skewed practices.  I’m going back to the way my mom intended.”

                “That’s amazing, Derek.”

                “There’s only one problem.  I’m going to have to change the location of the company headquarters.”

                “Why?”  Stiles looks up into Derek’s eyes.

                “Because you’re here.”  He leans into the space that separates them and kisses him.  The young man’s eyes flutter closed.  He kisses back.

                When they stop, Stiles steps away.  So hopeful, yet guarded.  “Once and for all, Derek.  Tell me what we are.  Tell me what on earth we are doing.  What is this?  What is this between us?”

                Derek steps toward him again.  He leans in… gently holds the boy’s chin up with two fingers of his left hand.  Looks directly into his eyes.  And before the kiss whispers his promise, “Whatever you want it to be.”