The screwdriver slipped, slicing into Stiles’ thumb and making him yelp with pain before sticking it in his mouth and sucking on it. And still the stupid fucking radiator was making that distracting humming noise.
He had finals! Finals! He didn’t have time to be messing with a radiator, especially when the landlord said he’d be sending a maintenance person out two hours ago.
Fuming silently, Stiles smacked the damn radiator with his uninjured hand – injuring it, of course, because this was his fucking life. As he hopped around, one thumb still shoved in his mouth while shaking the other vigorously, there came a polite but firm knocking on his door.
It was probably the pizza dude, even though Stiles had only called fifteen minutes ago. Doing the dance of pain across his small apartment, Stiles unbolted and yanked the door open and then just… stared.
This was porn. Somehow, he, Stiles Stilinski, had ended up on a secret porn shoot. The man standing on the other side of the threshold, making judgey eyebrows as the way Stiles was gaping at him with his thumb still in his mouth, had to be a porn star. There was no other reason for someone that gorgeous to be so artfully dirty with a white tank top clinging to his very yummy chest and jeans that showed every bump and bulge they were so tight. There was even a soft, worn-looking tool belt around his hips, highlighting that fine, mouthwatering bulge and–
“Stilinski? I’m here about your radiator?”
“Yeahhh,” Stiles sighed around his thumb before slowly pulling it from his mouth, trying for seductive but probably looking more like a mass murderer since sensually dragging his thumb over his lips just smeared his own blood over them.
And then what the guy said actually processed through Stiles’ brain and he leapt away from the doorjamb he’d been leaning against as sexily as he could – not very.
“Oh! My radiator!” Stiles stepped back, flushing under the guy’s glare. “Umm. It’s. Right this way.”
The only saving grace was that the stupid thing hadn’t magically fixed itself as soon as this dude appeared. As he started working on popping the cover off the radiator, Stiles found the best vantage point from which to watch that ass flex.
Seriously. It was a goddamn work of art.
“It’s not the radiator,” the guy said after a minute or so of poking around in it.
“Uh, yeah it is. That’s where the noise is coming from, ergo…”
“Ergo,” the guy said, rolling his eyes, “it’s coming from the other side of this wall.”
“What?” Stiles laughed, incredulous. This maintenance guy was pretty, but also an idiot. “The only thing on the other side of that wall is my bed.”
“D'you mind if I…?” The guy jerked his head toward the bedroom door.
Stiles just shrugged and spread his hands. “Have at it, dude. I’m telling you, it’s the radiator.”
Less than ten seconds after the guy disappeared into his bedroom, Stiles heard a choking sound. Curious, he went to see what was going on, only to find the maintenance dude staring at his bed with something like horror on his very red face.
Stiles followed the path of the guy’s gaze and then…
Well, then he leapt forward, falling on his vibrator like Steve Rogers falling on a grenade.
“Oh my god!” he squawked, burying his face in his pillow as he tried to both hide the vibrator and turn it off at the same time.
When it finally fell silent, Stiles lay there for a long, agonizing minute before rolling to the side and opening one eye.
The maintenance dude had one hand pressed against his mouth, eyes swimming with tears as he laughed so hard his tools nearly fell out of his tool belt. When he noticed Stiles scowling at him, the guy calmed long enough to wheeze, “Told you it wasn’t the radiator,” before he dissolved into more silent laughter.
Stiles scowled at him, shoving the vibrator under his pillow before climbing out of his bed with as much dignity as he could muster. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, asshole.”
“Sorry,” the guy said, wiping at his eyes with both hands and biting his lip as he tried to stifle his laughter. “God, sorry. That’s really unprofessional.”
He looked a little contrite, at least, and Stiles was man enough to admit this would be a hilarious story one day in the future. He signed the guy’s maintenance form – on which he’d written ‘issue resolved to customer’s satisfaction,’ in tiny, neat script.
“I mean,” the guy said, tearing the top copy off for Stiles and writing something on it before handing it over. “With batteries like that, how could you not be, right?” And then he winked at Stiles and let himself out, all while Stiles stared after him, slack jawed with disbelief.
Dumbfounded, Stiles opened the receipt and found the name Derek and a phone number scribbled across the top in that same, neat writing. Before he could talk himself out of it, he punched Derek’s number into his phone and waited until he picked up, smooth and professional with a muttered, “Hale.”
“Hey, asshole,” Stiles said, trying and failing to stifle a smile. “If you wanna know where I buy my batteries, you have to buy me coffee first.”
A low, smooth chuckle sounded in his ear, sending shivers down his spine. “I was thinking dinner tonight, but if you really want to wait until breakfast…”
“Dinner?” Stiles breathed, rubbing his thumb over Derek’s name on the thin receipt paper, accidentally smearing his blood across it. “You ask out all your maintenance calls?”
“Nah. Just the one so far.”
“Yeah?” Stiles asked. “How’d that work out for you?”
“Dunno yet. But I’m getting good vibes from him.”
Stiles was still randomly giggling over that three hours later. At dinner.