There's a sharp tapping of a high heel behind him, and Stiles spins around on his chair. There are various post-its stuck to his face with penises drawn on them, but he gives Captain Reyes his best "serious cop" face.
"Yes, Captain?" Stiles asks innocently. Scott is snickering quietly from the desk behind him, shoving a pad of post-its in a drawer.
Captain Erica Reyes narrows her eyes at him. "Do I want to know why there is cartoon male genitalia stuck to your face?"
"...because I miss the real thing?" Stiles quips.
"Professional conduct," she hisses, jerking her head behind her. Stiles can see the profile of the mayor through the window, and he hurriedly straightens up, pulling the stickies off his face just as Mayor Lydia Martin enters the room, a familiar brooding figure behind her.
"Oh, shit," Stiles mutters to himself. Fire Captain Derek Hale from Station 14, the very bane of Stiles' existence. Whatever was happening was definitely not good.
Erica just glares at him and rushes to greet the mayor, all smiles and professionalism. "Mayor Martin," she says. "Feel free to use my office."
"Thank you, Captain Reyes," Lydia says brusquely. "Detective Stilinski?"
Stiles casts one last sad look at Scott, who instead of making a sympathetic face in return, does some strange pointing motion to his face.
Stiles enters the office and the door shuts ominously behind them as Mayor Lydia Martin takes her seat behind the desk. She glares at the two of them, and Stiles grudgingly takes a seat in one of Erica's stiff guest chairs.
He tries not to think about how Derek Hale is taking up the chair next to him, exuding his usual aura of grumpiness and being unfairly attractive. Of course Stiles is thwarted when Derek turns towards him, glaring, and pulls a post-it note off of Stiles' face and hands it back to him.
Stiles notices Lydia (he could never quite call her Mayor in his head) eye the note in his hands, which of course, features a penis jizzing spectacularly, courtesy of Scott's artwork and Stiles' boredom.
"Detective Stilinski," Mayor Martin says sternly.
"Yes?" Stiles asks with a forced smile, crumpling the note and shoving it in his pocket.
"Do you know why you're here today?" she asks.
Stiles darts a quick look at Derek, but the man is silent.
"Because I'm the best detective in the city and you're giving me an award?" Stiles throws her a grin.
Lydia throws a thick folder onto the desk. "These are complaints filed to the city that I have received about your behavior, Detective Stilinski."
"No way," Stiles mutters, "I'm a valuable asset to the police department!"
Derek snorts loudly and Stiles throws him a glare, when Lydia continues, "And your behavior as well, Captain Hale. I also have incident reports where both of you were labeled as the cause of disturbance." She fixes them both with a grim look. "I've already spoke to your supervisors. You both will be suspended from service immediately."
Derek appears to just grip the armrests of his chair tightly while Stiles flails and gestures wildly at Lydia. "What?"
The mayor raises an eyebrow, flipping through the stack of paper in the folder. "Let's see, I've got property damage, noise disturbances, reports of a fight between 87th Precinct officers and Station 14 firefighters, public indecency, lewd behavior-- this is unacceptable behavior for two professional men in the civil service." Lydia Martin leans back in the chair, flicking her impeccable nails against the desk. "I've already recommended to both the Police Commissioner and the Fire Chief that you both enter into couple's therapy with a licensed therapist before you are approved to resume service."
"Did you say--" Stiles starts.
"What?" Derek growls.
"We're not a couple!" they both retort in unison. Stiles catches the eyes of Derek for a moment when they both happen to glance at each other at the same time, and then he looks away, fixing his gaze on the mayor before his body starts responding to that intense stare by blushing or something worse.
Lydia quirks her lip. "Look, I know you've been supposedly keeping your relationship a secret--" Stiles' jaw drops in horror, "because of the rivalry between the police and fire departments, but you've been doing a terrible job. Everyone knows, and not to mention the very public fallout of your disagreements has had a negative affect on the city." She taps the thickness of the folder.
"We're not together," Stiles insists.
Lydia coughs pointedly. "An incident report filed by 87th Precinct Captain Erica Reyes. March twenty-fifth, eight p.m. Came back to the precinct to grab my coat, only to hear Stilinski banging his new boyfriend in the holding cell. Will make sure he does extra cleanup in the morning."
Stiles splutters. "That wasn't-- it wasn't like that!"
"Civilians aren't allowed back here."
Stiles grins broadly, pulling the badge hanging up from his neck. "Good thing we're not civilians," he says brightly as he holds up the yellow caution tape for Scott, who hesitates but follows Stiles into the charred building.
The curly-headed firefighter rolls his eyes, muttering, "Captain isn't going to like this," under his breath before walking off.
There's the taint of smoke drifting through the air, and Stiles kicks a charred something out of the way and throws Scott a victorious look.
"Are you sure we should be here?" Scott asks as Stiles begins poking around the room.
"Of course, Scotty!" Stiles claps Scott on the back. "Our murder victim Brian Snows was found in our area, so it's our body, our investigation. Which leads us here, since we know the vic was not killed where we found him, but the last text his phone received was this address, so. Here we are. Scene of a potential crime. Full of clues. Potential scene of the murder."
"Also not in your jurisdiction," a gruff voice growls behind them.
Stiles ignores whoever it is, picking up a charred notebook with some familiar names scribbled inside, including a James Myers, the former partner of the victim and prime suspect. He gestures for Scott, who opens an evidence bag and drops the notebook inside. Before Scott seals the bag it is grabbed by the newcomer.
"Hey! That's NYPD evidence," Stiles says, reaching for the bag, only to be met by a set of green eyes that are glaring angrily at him.
"This is my arson investigation, so I would say it's my evidence. Who are you and what are you doing here?"
"Detectives Stilinski and McCall, from the 87th Precinct," Stiles says curtly. "Who the hell are you?"
"Captain Derek Hale," the man says, crossing his arms. He's not wearing the uniform jacket, just a white t-shirt which is stained with sweat and straining to contain the muscled torso under it, with the uniform pants held up by suspenders.
Stiles has a fleeting recollection of many an adolescent masturbatory fantasy about hot sweaty firefighters, but really, this isn't fair, being snarked at by a wet dream while you're trying to do your job.
"Well, this is also my crime scene, so you're going to have to hand back that evidence," Stiles snaps.
The firefighter from earlier joins them with another black guy, both of them in uniform, standing behind Derek Hale and folding their arms.
"No chance," Derek says. "You guys should leave."
"Yeah, why don't you go do what cops normally do?" Curls asks flippantly.
"There's a donut shop on the next block," the black guy suggests.
Stiles glares at them angrily. He hates this case. He hates the fire department. He hates that hot fire captain Derek Hale. He hates the cops-and-donuts stereotype most of all. "Well, fuck you!" he roars. Scott starts pulling him back, but not before Stiles yells, "Expect to hear from the NYPD about that evidence, bitches! You can suck my dick, Derek Hale!" Stiles makes a lewd thrust with his hips and gestures wildly at his crotch before Scott pulls them out of the building entirely.
"What the fuck, Stiles," Scott exclaims as they get back to the precinct. "Just because you're Erica's favorite and everyone in the precinct is cool with that kind of shit doesn't mean you can talk to other people like that."
"Dude, I am the highest ranked detective in New York City. I am not going to lose my record for solving cases because that asshole is withholding evidence," Stiles says. He fires off a very strongly worded memo to Erica and proceeds to drown himself in paperwork of other cases while he waits for a response.
A few hours later, the receptionist pops her head into the main office and announces, "There's a Mr. Lahey to see you, Detective Stilinski." It's the curly-headed fireman, who strides in the office, holding a folder. Upon seeing Stiles, he cracks a grin and holds it out.
Stiles takes the folder gingerly as Scott looks on. He flips it open. There's a squished donut inside. Lahey cracks up, and gets out, "Your requested evidence," between peals of laughter.
"Oh, really funny," Stiles calls after Lahey's figure as he leaves. "You know what this means, Scott," he mutters.
Scott looks at him. "They didn't bring enough donuts for everyone?"
Stiles shakes his head. "Nope. We've got to get that evidence back. I'm sure that notebook has the information the killer wanted, and we can't solve the case without it."
They head back into the firestation at lunch, and while Scott distracts fireman Lahey (more like flirting), Stiles manages to sneak into their evidence lockup, which is little more than a storage closet. He finds the ziplock with ease and heads back to the car, texting Scott.
Scott joins him ten minutes later, an eager grin on his face. "Isaac's actually really cool," he tells Stiles. "We're going to go fishing on Saturday."
"I said distract him, not get a date," Stiles says.
"What? It's not a date! We're just hanging out," Scott replies indignantly.
"Whatever," Stiles says, pointing out a page in the charred notebook. "Apparently our suspect has a summer house here. They're probably still laying low."
Scott drives them towards the house, which is on the other side of the city, but the built anticipation over the drive and the long traffic fizzles when they confront Myers, who doesn't even put up a fight.
Back at the precinct, Myers gives a full confession to the murder of Brian Snows. As an afterthought, Stiles asks him if he set the building on 3rd Street on fire. Myers just looks confused.
Stiles is pretty sure there's more to this, but Myers definitely doesn't know anything more about the notebook, or who was keeping track of his whereabouts or who Snows was meeting at the building.
The precinct slowly clears out as people leave, and Scott claps him on the back for a case solved when Myers is led away to the country jail.
"We did a good job today," Scott says. "Not sure about stealing from the fire department, but we got the guy, so that's good."
Stiles grins back at him. "You should go home, I can finish the rest of this report on my own. Besides, I'm just going to write 'Stiles kicks ass' all over it."
"I'm sure Erica will love that," Scott snorts, grabbing his coat and heading for the door. "See you tomorrow!"
Stiles whistles as he finishes the report on the Snows case, filing away all the details. He calls, "Goodnight, Captain Reyes," with a jaunty salute when she leaves the office, blonde curls bouncing.
"Night, Stilinski," she says, "Good job on the case today. I'm glad it worked out with the fire department; it's always good to see police officers and firefighters working well together."
Stiles laughs, trying to hold back the sarcasm but it comes out anyways. "Yep, and I definitely made a new friend." He winks exaggeratedly.
Erica smiles and waves as she heads out the door.
Stiles enjoys the peace and quiet for awhile, working diligently on the report and finishing with a flourish, when he hears heavy footsteps in the hallway.
The door bursts open and it's Derek Hale, wearing an angry expression on his face.
"Well, if it isn't Fire Captain Sourpants," Stiles remarks.
"You," Derek snarls, and wow, Stiles had no idea eyebrows could look so angry on his own. "You broke into our station and stole evidence."
"You have no proof of that," Stiles says innocently.
Derek grabs him by the shirt and shakes him. "I've been tracking this arsonist for months."
"Well, I needed to catch a murderer," Stiles says back, dimly aware of how close they are. He can smell the smoke off of Derek's uniform. Stiles pushes him back, shaking the thoughts. "Good thing I found him, too, who knows what would have happened if he got away."
Derek jerks up. "Is he here? I'll need to question him," he says, heading towards the empty holding cell. Stiles follows him and is right behind him when Derek spins around furiously and demands, "Where is he?"
"They brought him down to county earlier," Stiles says smugly, "It was an open and shut case, and he didn't have anything to do with the fire, and he wasn't the writer of the notebook." And because Stiles can't control himself, he continues, "So you can suck it, because I solved my case and you didn't." He smirks at him.
Stiles definitely did not expect to be pinned against the bars of the holding cell, with Derek's solid body warm against his. He squeaks in surprise and Derek glares at him, and the moment stretches out where Stiles is painfully aware of his heart thudding wildly in his chest, one of Derek's arms pushing his shoulder against the cold metal bars and the other resting on Stiles' hip.
"You are so pushy," Derek hisses at him. "Maybe I should give you what you want."
"Yeah, maybe you should," Stiles taunts. "Suck-- oh, fuck--" Stiles' brain skids to a halt when Derek's hand is suddenly in his jeans, palming his growing erection. It only takes a few seconds for Stiles to get completely hard and then his jeans are unzipped and yanked down and Derek drops down, swallowing his cock. Stiles bites back a whimper as he watches those lips stretch, taking him in, those bright green eyes watching him intently. His erection is a dark, angry red and Stiles is panting for it as Derek licks and suckles the precome now flowing smoothly from the head.
"What the fuck," Stiles finally manages.
Derek manages to look smug even with his mouth stuffed full of cock, and he barely stops to breathe and then readjust their position, lifting Stiles' legs with no effort so they are resting on his broad shoulders, pushing Stiles up the bars.
Stiles has no idea how his day has led to this: him flushed and sweating, shirt rucked up, jeans and boxers pulled to his ankles, his back to cold metal bars, now digging against his bare ass, body somehow fully supported on Derek's shoulders, receiving the most amazing blowjob of his life.
He moans helplessly as Derek's tongue swirls around the head and Derek lets his cock go with an insanely obscene pop. What the hell, the man is smirking, licking his fingers, and Stiles can feel the anger rising through him at the situation, and the fucking fire department, at Derek, when Derek takes him in his mouth again. Its hot, wet, and sloppy, and Stiles can barely hang on to his thoughts when a slick finger dips in the cleft of his ass and presses against his hole.
Stiles' body flails but Derek's firm grip of his other hand and the way he's pressed up against the cell bars keeps him in place and it's all he can do to not howl in pleasure (although he's pretty sure his mouth is making sounds) when Derek hits his prostate.
Stiles comes spectacularly, and he can feel the white hot bliss run through his entire body as his orgasm is ripped from him. He is vaguely aware of being set down on the cold floor the hallway and looking up as Derek gets up and walks off towards the main office.
He returns a few moments later, Stiles still dazedly sitting on the floor, still exposed and covered in his own come. Aside from the a few droplets of come on his shirt and his lips, Derek is still fully dressed and the picture of a responsible civil servant. He's holding the notebook from the fire.
"Stay out of my jurisdiction," Derek growls as he heads out the main door, slamming it behind him.