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 68th 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.”