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The Parlor

Chapter Text

The vulgar sound of wet slapping rang through the penthouse suite.

Derek’s hands were clenched into the satin coverlets on the bed, eyes clamped shut as he jackknifed into the body under him. He was completely separate from touching the man except for the occasional banging of hips. He purposefully avoided touching him any more than he had to.

His work-issued slacks were shoved down his thighs and his white uniform tunic was unbuttoned to expose his chest. Typically, Derek would never unbutton his shirt, but his client had specially requested it today. And since the contract rules were still being followed, admin had approved the request.

And it was kind of nice, to not overheat under the thick cotton for once.

Derek heard his client give an especially loud whine, opening his eyes to see what changed. He normally didn’t allow himself to look at his clients- particularly this client.

It wasn’t good for his heart. But whenever he heard him keen like that, it nearly broke Derek’s control. Every damn time.

His lean frame was stretched out beneath Derek, constellations of moles strewed over his torso as his arms reached up for the pillows while his thighs were spread obscenely wide.

According to his contract, Derek didn’t know his client’s name, profession, or even his birth date. According to the Client’s contract, he knew nothing about Derek aside from his stage name, Hale. But even then, it was discouraged to use any kind of name or identifiers for privacy.

He breathed quietly, barely maintaining composure as he fixated on the little curls of hair at the back of the man’s neck.

It was familiar and endearing and he damn, loved those little curls.

Derek still knew his client’s true identity, even through all the contracts and rules enforced by the company. He was his favorite regular.

His client cried again, arching his long back, fingers desperately tugging on the blankets for some kind of purchase as he shoved back to meet Derek’s thrusts, apparently fed up with only taking it.

Wouldn’t be long now.

The first time Stiles Stilinski had come to the Parlor was eight months ago.

He was an Oscar-winning actor who’d had taken Hollywood by storm with his gorgeous and equally famous girlfriend, Heather Bellamy.

The man had walked into their lobby donned in an oversized hoodie and large obnoxious sunglasses, his bodyguard next to him and dressed in a simple tracksuit.

The average civilian probably wouldn’t think twice about a large man in a tracksuit, but you could spot a bodyguard a mile away if you knew what to look for. Ironically, they dress exactly like they do in the movies, and were quite common among The Parlor’s clientele.

Stilinski had hesitantly approached the smooth maple reception desk, fiddling with the arms of his sunglasses and staring at Erica from over the counter.

She had greeted him politely, as she did with every new client, and asked how she could help.

At the time, Derek had been tucked behind a white brick wall backing Erica’s desk where the employee entrance was hidden. He hadn’t known who the man was at the time, having come down to the lobby to gossip about Cora’s new boyfriend between appointments, but he’d been intrigued by the lilt of the man’s voice and the nervousness in his tone.

“I was recommended here by a friend of mine, said you guys do some of the best… privacy and discretion work in the city?”

He didn’t sound confident at all.

Derek could hear Erica smiling through her response, as if she were trying not to laugh.

“We offer clientele services under the city’s highest standing confidentiality contracts. The Parlor offers luxury services to High Profile clients with the utmost discretion; your needs will be taken care of with all the privacy you could ever want,” she politely scripted off, Derek hearing the amusement in her tone.

“Oh, that’s perfect. Yes, um, what’s included exactly? Is it a whole membership or a one-off thing...?”

“It's a contract bound membership. This is our welcome pamphlet. We offer services such as massage, companionship, fellatio, penetration, and more, all at your discretion. Inside you can find The Parlor’s Rules of Decorum and Etiquette, they are to be strictly followed by both attendant and client. This-,” Erica paused, and Derek heard her pulling out the binder.

He could hear the guy laughing nervously, clearly not used to hearing professionals discussing sex in such a clinical way.

Wasn’t this idiot coming in to be a client? Maybe he hadn’t ever used a companion service before?

“- is our catalog. Each of our attendants are listed inside. If you would like to proceed with opening a contract, our owner, Ms. Martin, will meet with you in her office for registration.”

“Okay, awesome.” The man paused, Derek assumed because he was flipping through the catalog. “Wait, who’s this guy?”

stepped away, knowing he technically wasn’t allowed to listen in anymore than he already had. The guy was clearly interested in opening a contract, which meant Derek’s ears were legally obligated to leave the vicinity. He needed to go shower before his next client anyway.

Later, at their favorite bar after work, Erica would tell him that his new client had seen Derek’s profile and chose him on the spot. But, of course, he hadn’t known who his new client was going to be.

Derek had been promptly called in to Lydia’s office after he had showered off and had time some free time before his next appointment. She’d handed him his new client contract and the mandatory NDAs, listing the client’s interests and red flags, and specifying the first appointment would consist of only a massage. The guy was nervous about The Parlor and wanted to see what their services were like before making any big commitments.

The new contract only listed the man’s most basic details. Gender, age, weight, no name or picture. It was the typical amount of information Derek received.

And he was always interested in meeting new clients. How the pilot appointment went would determine if he had any interest in filing a permanent contract with the client. Even if they didn’t end up being compatible, the clients almost always tipped excessively, as if trying to apologize for not picking him. Which was completely idiotic to Derek; he didn’t give a shit whether they liked him or not. That said, he never declined a hefty tip - he wasn’t stupid.

So he hadn’t had any idea who his new client was going to be. However, his first appointment with Stilinski was something he would never forget.

The Parlor’s Rules of Decorum and Etiquette were posted in every room of the building, clinically listing client and attendant regulations. Each client was given the rules to take home before their first appointment, and breaking said rules broke their contract, which was then punishable via severe legal action. There was a reason The Parlor was the highest rated companion service on the East Coast.

The week after their tentative contract was written up, Derek walked into the Penthouse Suite prepared for a typical first appointment. He’d stood by the door and glanced around for his new client, not expecting to witness Stiles Stilinski standing by the bedroom door in simple civilian attire.

It was pretty damn shocking because Derek had just seen him on TV last night next to Jimmy Fallon promoting his new movie. Seeing him on screen just the previous night was one thing, having him twenty feet away in real life was- wow.

After allowing a split-second for the awe to flush out of his system, Derek reset his neutral expression and closed the door behind him. He nodded politely, approaching his new client and holding out his hand in greeting like he always did. It didn't matter that Stilinski was a massive Hollywood actor who Derek definitely admired and absolutely had a crush on, he was now a real-life client of The Parlor's. That meant no starstruck babbling and no wide-eyed stares. Nothing but suave professionalism.

There were no excessive pleasantries, there was no socializing, and only very basic communication to keep them separate from one another to reduce the chances of client information getting leaked. It was the first and easiest rule to follow - only idiots broke it.

“Hi, I’m Stiles, you’re Hale right?”

Derek almost tripped, catching himself at the last minute.

“We’re not supposed to talk or say names!” he whispered in a shrill tone, freezing and glaring at him with his hand still outstretched.

Stilinski slapped a hand over his mouth in horror.

“Oops, shit! Okay- Sorry,” he whispered back, big brown eyes guilty at the slip-up as he nervously stepped backwards.

Oh lord. He was cute in real life too.

Derek ignored the traitorous thought, trying to carry on as if it were any other client who had fucked up, not one of his favorite actors. He wasn’t allowed to get attached or genuinely attracted to clients. He’d had that trained out of him years ago; noticing the cuteness of this particular client was strictly forbidden.

Noticing all the other things about him, like how dark his moles are and how tall he really is or how baggy his clothes sat on his frame, on the other hand, couldn’t possibly be forbidden, Derek thought, because they were mere... observations. That didn’t necessarily mean Derek thought his moles or his height or his figure were cute, of course not, because that would be breaking the rules. And Derek would never break the rules- not even for the incredibly cute Stiles Stilinski.

Derek cleared his throat awkwardly, resetting his shoulders and adjusting his outstretched hand to guide his new client towards the bedroom. He kept a four-foot distance between himself and the client as Stilinski hesitantly looked from Derek to the bedroom, hands twisting in the bottom of his shirt.

“We’ll be doing a full body massage for your first appointment, would you prefer your clothes on or off?” he said quietly, watching Stilinski slowly crawl onto the huge linen draped bed and hug his knees to his chest. He stared carefully towards Derek, clearly anxious about his slip-up and the tone it had set.

“Can I start with my clothes on and maybe take them off after?”

“Of course, whatever you are most comfortable with,” Derek calmly murmured, waving a hand to the bed and motioning for him to lie down.

After a moment of hesitation, Stilinski kicked off his shoes and lay face down into the center of the bed, Derek removing his Parlor slippers and crawling onto the mattress after him. He knelt along one side of Stilinski’s body, hands curled in his lap and glancing over him analytically.

All he wanted to do was to touch him, to feel that he was real. This was wrong.

From watching his movies, Derek knew Stilinski was attractive. He always adored watching him on screen. Stilinski was always so alive and animated and good at what he did, no matter the role he played or how he acted during interviews. The confidence Stilinski held himself with on-screen was obscene.

So, naturally, having him lain out in front of him and extremely nervous about receiving a simple massage, Derek didn’t know what to think. He tried to lean on his attendant training instead and closed his eyes to try to reign in the racing tempo of his heart. It was just another client, just a person, this was a professional exchange of services.

“Comfortable?” Derek finally asked in a strained tone, waiting for Stilinski to nod into the comforter.

Derek sighed weakly, stretching his hands and lightly sliding them over the folds of his bulky sweater. He ran his hands over Stilinski’s hips, slowly dragging them against the heavy fabric and watching the back of his client’s head for any sign of discomfort.

Some people took a few appointments to become comfortable with being touched by a stranger, but as nervous as he’d seemed moments ago, Stilinski didn’t appear bothered by it. Rather, he pushed his face firmly into the comforter and spread his arms up over the mattress, a silent request for Derek to access the rest of his torso.

Derek used the opportunity to slide his hands under his chest, hooking his hands under the front of Stilinski’s shoulders and pointedly not touching his pecs. He ran his hands back over his client’s shoulders, pressing his thumbs into the thick fabric and trying to get into the meat of his muscles.

As Derek massaged, he knew right away that this wouldn’t be their only appointment. Usually, he could tell within the first fifteen minutes of meeting them whether or not a client and himself would click enough to continue their contract.

The way Stilinski shyly arched up into Derek’s hands, how his hands flexed into the satin sheets, and his feet shuffling listlessly were all clear indicators that he wanted to react more but was quietly restraining himself. Which was understandable, they’d only met ten minutes ago.

Derek pressed small, gentle circles into Stilinski’s lower back with the tips of his fingers, adjusting his knees against the client’s side before leaning forward over him. Then he flattened his palms over his client’s hips and pressed Stilinski into the mattress using the full weight of his body, pinning him to the bed.

He heard his client’s breath hitch sharply, immediately squirming and tugging on the blankets under him in reaction.

So, Stiles liked being held down. That was unfortunate, considering Derek wasn’t allowed that kind of physical freedom during penetration with clients. He had to keep his hands to himself or placed on the mattress. Massages were the only time attendants were permitted to touch their clients. Once any kind of sex came into the picture, it turned clinical.

At first, Derek hadn’t understood why such a controlling rule existed, but his first high profile regular had taught him why. People became attached to their attendants quick and the rules were there for a reason. It'd ended in dire consequences for Derek and he regretted ever letting her touch him.

He slowly moved his hands down Stilinski’s body, easing his weight off from pressing him into the mattress to run his hands down his hips. His trimmed nails caught slightly on his jeans but he carefully avoided Stilinski’s backside, resting his palms on the back of his thighs instead.

He heard Stilinski mumble into the comforter at the avoidance of his ass and Derek smiled at the disgruntled tone.

It could potentially get complicated since Stilinski talked so much, but if Derek just ignored it and didn’t respond they would be fine. Wouldn’t be his first chatty client, for sure.

Just as he cupped the back of Stiles’ thighs, the client pushed himself up on his elbows to glance over his shoulder. Derek immediately removed his hands and held them a few inches above Stiles’ body, a clear sign of stopping when the client wanted to communicate.

“Can I take off my sweater?”

Derek gave him a dry look, unable to stop himself.

“Can you?”

His client just stared back stubbornly, looking like he was having a difficult time staying quiet. The frustrated glare he wore was absolutely ruined by the flushed tones of his cheeks. Instead of responding, Derek watched Stilinski push himself onto his knees to unzip his hoodie.

Derek wasn’t purposefully checking to see if he had an erection, but the solid mass at the front of Stilinski's jeans was quite obvious. A greedy part of him preened. Derek swallowed hard, trying to shove that feeling as deep inside himself as he could.

He pointedly looked to the other side of the room while trying to focus on the rough, bleached out texture of his uniform to avoid any kind of reaction himself.

It wasn’t discouraged to react to clients, but he knew there was no explicitly sexual activities planned for the appointment with Stilinski today. He was also attempting to discourage any further attachments he was developing for Stilinski beyond what he already had. Twenty minutes into their first appointment and it was proving to be an exercise in futility.

Derek raised his eyebrows in mild surprise when Stiles began to unbutton his jeans. He didn’t comment on it, but he was significantly impressed with how quickly Stilinski’s nervousness had worn off.

Maybe his Hollywood girlfriend was touch starving him. Certainly wouldn’t be the first time Derek had seen it happen.

His client flopped back onto the mattress, now donned in only a navy t-shirt and a tight pair of Spider-Man boxer-briefs.

Derek just stared down at his ass, not quite sure if what he was looking at was hot or amusing.

“Comfortable?” He asked again, resisting the urge to grin when Stilinski wiggled his hips in response.

They weren’t supposed to socialize, but body language was vaguely permitted since it was harder for management to track. They weren’t being recorded, however all of the rooms had a two-way mirror for management to check in on at random intervals for security purposes. Rarely did they actually check, but Derek was vividly aware of the threat of possibility. If they did get caught, the repercussions would be life-ruining. The temptation to break the rules was not worth it.

If they were dating, Derek would have slapped his ass. Since he was a ‘Professional Sexual Companion’, he placed his hands chastely on the back of his client’s calves and gently kneaded the muscle there instead.

Derek slowly made his way up the backs of Stilinski’s legs, memorizing the shape of Stiles’ muscles and the coarse texture of his leg hair, moving towards his thighs. He, once again, gently pressed his palms under the curve of Stilinski’s ass, eyes catching on how plump and perfect it looked when he pressed his hands just so.

“Scale of 1-10, how comfortable are you with intimate touching?”

A squeaky, “11. Please touch my ass?” came from further up the bed.

Derek couldn’t stop the smile that emerged and pushed his hands over the globes of Stiles’ ass, trying his best not to squeeze inappropriately in the process. He had to repeatedly force himself to remember this was a massage for a client, not someone he was allowed to be with. He was being paid to do this.

He pressed his thumbs into the plush of the muscle, kneading in circles and curling his fingers under Stiles’ hip bones to grip. Derek’s nails caught again on the fabric of his briefs, and he had to restrain himself from reaching down any further.

Stilinski had managed to push himself back into Derek’s hands, now trembling with minute restraint. It was cute.

Derek carried on, occupied with watching how his hands pressed and pulled at the man’s cheeks while massaging them. He was flat-out ignoring his own arousal at this point. He cupped his hands under Stilinski’s ass and used his thumbs to push into the underside of his flesh, subtly pulling them apart.

Derek didn’t press into the crevice between his cheeks, but fuck, he wanted to. From the way Stilinski kept raising his hips against every new move, he shared the sentiment. But Derek didn’t do it, keeping on track by pressing calming circles into his skin and silently watching as his hands pulled apart Stilinski’s ass cheeks under the fabric of his briefs again.

Derek was pulled out of his trance when he began to recognize the sound of heavy panting that had filled the room. Derek hadn’t even noticed the change in Stilinski’s breathing patterns, but he paused to refocus and removed his hands from his client’s ass.

Stiles had slowly been repositioning himself while Derek was distracted, and his hands were now bundled into the comforter as he arched so far back into Derek's hands that his hips weren’t even on the bed anymore; he was propped up on his knees and presenting himself. It was one of the greatest sights Derek had ever witnessed.

In the gap between Stiles’ hips and the mattress, Derek could see his erection hanging heavy, and those poor Spider-Man briefs were having a difficult time.

Derek, in a last minute attempt to try and pacify the situation, ran his hands up Stiles’ back to try to calm him, gently coaxing him back down to the mattress with slow, even strokes.

Clients could react however they wanted, so he wasn’t going to discourage anything that was going on. But he couldn’t directly encourage anything either, unless it was specifically requested prior to the appointment. Stilinski had requested just a massage to start things off; Derek wasn’t going to offer any additional services.

Derek gently rubbed the middle of Stilinski’s back, watching his reactions closely. But his client was still coming apart at the seams, even with the subtle attempts to calm him.

Rather than relax at the change in positions, Stilinski was clinging to the blankets for dear life and twitched with every new move Derek made. His hips had lowered back onto the mattress, but he’d picked up a twitching-grinding motion that seemed painfully restrained.

Derek tried not to watch, but witnessing someone fall apart under his hands was never easy to ignore. Both for his ego and for his own pleasure.

The feeling of Stiles’ limbs shifting in reaction to his own hands was intense. Inadvertently, Derek slowly began to move his hands back down Stilinski’s body, watching closely to see what Stiles would do next.

All Derek wanted to do was climb on top of him and press himself against Stilinski’s ass. But, he was at work. Even if Stilinski asked for penetration in future appointments, he’d never be allowed to climb on top and fuck into him like he really wanted.

So, Derek teasingly dragged his fingertips down the bottom of his back, stopping at the top of Stilinski’s waistband.
The responding sob from Stilinski unfurled something hot inside him.

Derek moved himself for the first time in forty minutes, shifting up on his knees to get the blood flowing elsewhere before running his hands down the edges of his ass, pointedly avoiding his cheeks again.

This time, when he got to his legs, he slid his hands in between Stilinski’s thighs, feeling the hair thicken the closer he got to what Derek knew he couldn’t touch. He watched Stilinski arch into it, his muscles tensing up as he achingly spread his thighs under Derek’s hands. He cautiously kneaded the inside of his thigh muscles, finding himself entranced with Stilinski’s reactions. He was so sensitive.

Then he noticed how Stilinski’s hips had lifted up again and he was back to grinding against the bed. Derek was somewhat impressed with his restraint.

“Can- Can I-”

“Yes,” Derek answered hoarsely, not knowing what he was agreeing to.

Derek had a hard time breathing when he noticed Stilinski’s hand shove down underneath himself.

He moved his hands back to his client’s ass, this time unable to stop himself from tilting his head to the side to watch as he distractingly groped and kneaded into the muscle.

Stilinski jerked himself rapidly over the fabric of his briefs while Derek continued to knead his ass, his head curled into the mattress and sounding like he was starving for air. Derek could only watch as he pulled himself apart while pressing himself back into Derek’s hands with a muffled groan.

While he watched the last threads of Stiles’ composure crumble, Derek moved his hands away from his backside down to Stilinski’s ankles, needing to touch the most non-sexual place he could think of.

He quickly adjusted his own erection, wincing as it pinched under the uniform’s elastic and returning his hands to Stiles’ ankles. His client had already slumped back into the mattress and was trying to catch his breath.

As Derek quietly rubbed the soles of his feet, occupied with giving him the most platonic massage he could think of, Stilinski limply flopped onto his back and looked at Derek with a blank expression. He wouldn’t have thought anything out of the ordinary had happened if it wasn’t for the ruddy color of his skin and how utterly debauched he looked.

Derek held his stare, refusing to break eye contact. He carried on rubbing his feet as if Stilinski wasn't watching him, instead focusing on holding his stare.

Derek wasn’t completely sure if his own erection was visible, but he didn’t particularly care. If it was hidden, fine. If it wasn’t, then Stilinski knew he would be interested in carrying on with their appointments. Win-win.

After a few minutes of simply watching Derek massage his feet, Stiles lazily knocked his legs around for him to stop.

Derek placed his hands in his lap, looking back at him expectantly. But his fingers were clenched and his heart was pounding.

After pausing for a moment, Stiles cleared his throat.

“What times of the week do you have available for standing appointments?” His voice was scratchy and rough, and it made the hair on the back of Derek’s neck stand up.

“Thursday mornings, Erica at the front desk can schedule it in for you.”

Stiles grinned with a nod as he slowly moved to sit up, limbs heavy and clumsy. Derek would have offered his hand, but he knew he wouldn’t let go.

He should have said no to carrying on the contract; that had been the first red flag. Watching his former on-screen celebrity crush and now real-life client try to collect his bearings after an orgasm during their first appointment was… impossible. Derek’s brain wasn’t computing and he was already overly attached. He should have suggested another attendant take his place, he should have politely declined and said he had no room in his schedule. He should have done a lot of things.

All he could bring himself to do was watch Stiles Stilinski happily fumble around the bedroom for his clothes.

Eventually, Derek managed to crawl off the bed to go stand by the door, waiting with hands clenched tight in anxiety.

By the time Stilinski had managed to put all his clothes back on and wander over, he’d apparently noticed Derek’s erection. But when he reached out to touch him, Derek quickly deflected his hand.

A look of surprise came over Stilinski’s face; he was obviously not expecting the practiced block and warning look Derek gave him.

“As much as I’d like you to... you can’t,” Derek whispered seriously, watching as realization dawned over his client’s face at the admission.

“Seriously? But that’s so fucked,” Stilinski whispered back, Derek shrugging in indifference. He was used to it.

Instead, he gently touched Stiles’ lower back as he guided him out of the bedroom. The touch was a comfort to him, though a raw and painful reminder that this was purely a clinical exchange.

It was the format almost all of their appointments would take: Stilinski trying to stay as quiet as possible and Derek trying not fall for him any more than he already had. It was a constant battle to remain focused on his job while remembering that Stilinski was his client, not his lover.

But that had been eight months ago.

In the meantime, Derek liked to think he wasn’t in love with Stilinski.

To get past his often intimate and intruding thoughts of their relationship, Derek tried to remember Stiles’s girlfriend. The very thought usually drenched him in such a rush of cold reality that he was reminded of how his relationship with Stiles truly meant nothing in the grand scheme of things and that Stiles would never truly be his.

Stilinski had expressed his displeasure at the lack of touching by including massages into their appointments on a regular basis. Usually, their appointments began with a massage and ended with penetrative sex. However, on rare occasions, the order was switched. Those days were the ones that really fucked with Derek’s emotions.

Luckily, today wasn’t one of those days.

Stilinski was currently coming apart at the seams, curling into the blankets and groaning loudly as he came. Derek haltingly stilled as Stiles shuddered through it, waiting patiently while cringing through the sensation of Stiles clenching and tightening around him while he worked through his orgasm.

He opened his eyes to see Stilinski trying to curl back up into his chest. There was a solid two feet of space between Derek’s torso and Stilinski’s back, but Stiles always tried to close the gap, whether he intended to or not. All Derek wanted to do was lean down and hug him, to close that space, because he understood the anxiety of touch starvation well.

Derek gently patted his hip, signaling for him to cut it out and behave.

Stiles swore irritably, abruptly rolling onto his back. Derek hissed as he was pulled out of him without warning, still hard and sensitive as he painfully stepped back from between Stiles’ tangled legs.

Stiles stared up at him expectantly with a heavy gaze. Derek just stared back, backing away to discard the condom and to pull on his crumpled uniform once again.

This staring contest was how they inevitably finished each appointment. Stilinski, annoyed that he couldn’t speak, and Derek, restraining himself from allowing anything to happen. His control was impeccable on most days; it was only with Stilinski that he had a difficult time. It was like they were playing the world's worst game of chicken, but it happened every week after they finished an appointment.

Derek broke the staring contest to locate Stiles’ clothes, unfolding them from the chair and bringing them over. He wasn’t required to help his clients dress or clean up after them, but for Stiles he usually did. Stiles took them and sighed.

Derek could remember a time when Stilinski looked pleased at the end of their appointments. But these days, he never seemed happy. It was a bit stressful, seeing how he wasn’t satisfied anymore. Derek had to assume it was because they were under contract and couldn’t interact the way they wanted to. He knew his client wasn’t irritated with Derek personally but at their situation. However it was still horrifically anxiety-inducing.

He knew deep down that there was more between them than just their contract. He saw the way Stiles looked at him in the quiet moments of their sessions- like he was longing for something he could never have- it had to mean something. The way Stiles practically jumped in anticipation when Derek entered the room had to mean something. But knowing these things still didn’t change the facts of their situation.

As Stilinski slowly pulled on his clothes, seated at the foot of the bed in the penthouse suite, Derek obediently stood by the door. He resolutely ignored the raging erection he still had, tucked into the waistband of his slacks habitually with his hands behind his back.

Stiles pulled on his red hoodie and ran his hands through his hair to weakly attempt to style it. His cheeks were still flushed, and his posture was stilted from aching muscles.

Derek glanced at the mirrors and decorative wall art scattered around the room, stepping between the French doors which opened to the central living room.

He cleared his throat, catching Stilinski’s attention.

Those big doe eyes looked over at him, head cocked at the curious interaction.

Derek smiled slightly, unfolding his arms and leaning against the doorway. He held out his hand, wiggling his fingers as if to beckon him. Stiles stood on shaky legs, impressively silent as he cautiously approached, seeming to know this was forbidden. When he was close enough, Derek reached out for his hand and twined their fingers together.

He rarely initiated any kind of touch, but Stiles’ unhappiness had been digging at him for weeks.

The brilliant smile he got in return made the risk worth it, and a feeling of relief settled over him with Stiles’ fingers squeezing around his.

Stiles, knowing they were breaking the rules, leaned back on the opposite side of the door jamb and smiled at him sweetly.

Derek smiled back. This doorway was a blind spot to all the two-way mirrors. It was the only place they could somewhat interact like this without getting caught.

After a few blissful moments, Derek squeezed his fingers, nodding towards the entrance to the suite. Stilinski sighed grumpily at the official ending of their appointment, a look of intense sadness overcoming him as he released Derek’s fingers and turned to go.

Derek hesitated at the fresh look of misery. He was used to disappointment at the end of their appointments and increasing frustration these last few weeks, but sadness was unfamiliar.

Derek followed behind, glancing over the room for anything out of place that the cleaners would have to attend to. They rarely spent any time in the living areas of the suite during their appointments.

But before he opened the door, Stilinski turned to face Derek, who just rolled his eyes. He always did this.

Stilinski pointed at Derek’s dick, silently asking if he could get him off. Derek just folded his arms with a raised eyebrow, daring him to try. It earned him a playfully irritated look, Stiles turning out into the hall as Derek led him out with a gentle hand to his back.

Stiles’ bodyguard glanced over to them where he stood by the doors, unperturbed with Derek’s appearance and silently followed Stilinski down the hallway towards the client locker rooms.

Derek stood in front of the Penthouse doors and watched Stilinski’s fading form disappear around the corner.

After collecting his barings from such an intimate moment with his client, he turned in the opposite direction for the attendant locker rooms. He had a long day ahead of him; he needed to shower, fix the painfully dire situation under his belt, then somehow manage to complete the rest of his appointments all the while pretending like he wasn’t betraying everything his contract stood for.

The Parlor Rules of Decorum and Etiquette:

Clients are required to shower on site prior to appointments.

Clients must alert staff to any and all allergies.

Clients are not permitted to bring personal belongings to appointments. Any toys or props used will be purchased from our in-house boutique and are to be kept within the client’s facility-provided lock box.

No electronic devices are permitted past the lobby.

Appointment Etiquette:

No extensive socializing or speaking without contract consultation.

No excessive or personal touching by either party, excluding massage with prior discussion and permission of the client.

All activities, sexual or not, must be cleared prior to appointment by Client and Attendant according to the contract.

Sexual Acts as permitted according to client preference and pre-approval are as follows:

- Fellatio

- Cunnilingus

- Rimming

- Penetration: Vaginal, Oral, Anal

- Any level of sexual BDSM or further kinks will be discussed with facility coordinators prior to consultations due to safety regulations.

- 'Dirty' talking is not permitted.

All acts are exclusively appointed to the client.

Attendant needs are irrelevant.

Kissing is not permitted.

Failure to comply will result in termination of client membership and/or attendant certification and will be followed by appropriate legal action.

Chapter Text

“Do we have to watch the Hallmark channel?” Cora yelled from the living room.

Derek was making nachos in the kitchen of his apartment: slicing up jalapeños and grabbing the salsa from the fridge.

“It’s Laura’s night, take it up with her!” he called back, tossing all the packaging into the trash beneath the sink and shoving the massive tray of nachos into the oven.

He set a timer on his phone and headed back to the living room with his beer in hand. Cora was sprawled over the armchair next to the couch with a bag of Cheetos in her lap and angrily stabbing at the TV remote.

“She’s late, that means I’m revoking her TV rights.”

Derek dropped into the comfortable leather of his chesterfield, sipping his beer and not particularly caring about what they chose. Cora would probably pick some horror movie while Laura would try for a stereotypical romance they had all seen a hundred times. Derek was indifferent. He just enjoyed hanging out with his sisters after a week being intimate with countless strangers. It made him feel human again, to heckle at movies and eat nachos and inevitably pass out on the couch with Laura curled up on his feet.

Cora had stopped on a random celebrity gossip show, something with E in the title, when her phone began ringing loudly and pulled her attention away from looking for a movie.

She answered it, getting up and walking into the kitchen behind Derek so she could yell at Laura without disturbing him.

He watched the talk show in mild interest, sipping at his beer and shoving his feet into the cushions of the couch. He was busy playing with his phone when something on the TV caught his attention and he looked up to listen to the hostesses’ chatter.

“-reported that Stilinski and Heather Bellamy are officially engaged!”

Derek’s jaw dropped, his beer frozen centimeters from his lips.

“Did you see that rock on her finger today when she came out of brunch with Emma Stone?”

The hostesses were squealing, all waving their papers around irritatingly in excitement.

“After four years of dating, finally! Aside from the royal wedding last year, this will be the biggest celebrity wedding of the decade!”

Derek could only stare in crushing misery at the paparazzi pictures of Stilinski and Bellamy wearing matching wedding rings on screen, holding hands as they ducked out of a restaurant somewhere in New York earlier that week.

He gripped beer shakily, barely listening to the nattering of the hosts as his brain tried to comprehend what was happening.

“Okay, Laura is parking. Some asshole with a truck is taking up all your visitor spots.” Cora came back into the room with a new beer, glancing curiously at Derek when he didn’t respond.

Her gaze followed his up to the talk show he was still watching; now the hostesses were showing pictures of Heather Bellamy’s wedding ring and praising Stiles Stilinski on his diamond choice.

“Stiles Stilinski is getting married?” she asked thoughtfully.

Derek put his beer down loudly.

“Hey, isn’t he one of your-” she laughed, but stopped mid-sentence when she saw Derek’s expression.

The look of anguish on his face was probably a good indication of his feelings on the matter. The shattered feeling he felt inside hurt far more than he would have liked to admit.

He knew Stilinski wasn’t going to be a forever deal, but he didn’t think it would happen this soon.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Der,” Cora whispered, sitting by his feet on the couch and placing her hand on his ankle.

He glanced at her weakly, leaning back into the couch and emptily staring up at the ceiling.

“We have all these rules,” he mumbled, “to prevent this kind of thing. No excessive touching, no talking, you know the deal.”

She nodded, having seen the pamphlets hanging around his apartment.

“He never really followed those rules very well, anyway,” he smirked sadly, looking back at the television and seeing yet more paparazzi photos of Stilinski and Heather eating lunch at some fancy restaurant.

Cora looked to the screen uneasily.

“Maybe he’ll keep coming to see you. Clearly she isn’t all that if he’s showing up at The Parlor to sit on your dick every week.” She bitterly waved a hand at the screen, and Derek raised his eyebrows thoughtfully.

“That is true.”

They were interrupted by the front door of Derek’s apartment being thrown open. Laura burst into the living room and threw her bags onto the floor.

“Okay, bitches, Hallmark time!”

“No, you were late so we’re gonna watch The Purge.”

“That shitty sociological experiment pretending to be a horror movie? I’m not wasting two hours of my life on that.”

“Derek’s work boyfriend is getting married.” Cora swiftly changed the topic, causing Derek to groan and cover his hands with his face.

Laura frowned, closing the door behind her and walking fully into the living room. She stared at the television, seeing the headlines running across the screen.

“Oh fuck. I was so sure he was gonna leave her and be your sugar daddy!” she groaned, Derek scowling at her and Cora snorting.

“Derek’s older than him, he can’t be his sugar daddy.”

“Derek is rich because of his magic dick, but Stilinski is an Oscar-winning actor, and that makes him even richer,” Laura exclaimed, eyes wide and sarcastic, rubbing her fingers together to mimic dollar bills.

Derek sat up, grabbing his beer from the coffee table. “Even if all of that were true, he’s clearly going to marry his very real girlfriend of four years,” he said spitefully, drinking his beer, “not the gay prostitute he secretly visits every Thursday.”

Both of his sisters turned to glare at him, neither approving of the word choice he used to describe his profession. Usually Derek didn’t either, but this was an open and festering wound. He couldn’t help but feel spiteful.

The only hope he really had for a future with Stilinski was them continuing their appointments. Even then, he’d never have a chance with the movie star because eventually, this charade would end. And when it did, Stiles would choose his wife over Derek.

But if this was how Derek really felt, he wondered if maybe it would be better to just stop the appointments altogether. He wasn’t allowed to have feelings like this for a client, especially one so high-profile and in the public eye. This was the fucking reason for all those shitty rules.

The worst part of it was that even though he had followed all the rules, it had still happened right off the bat. He had known it would ultimately end in anguish, but he hadn’t expected the fool to go and get married.

Laura and Cora changed the channel and picked a nature documentary instead, feeding Derek beer and nachos for the rest of the night in an effort to make him forget the life-ruining news. Even if it didn’t change how his world had just been flipped, he was glad they were there to comfort and talk shit with. He didn’t want to think about what would have happened if he’d been alone when he saw the news tonight.

But Derek was leaning on the likelihood of Stilinski continuing with their appointments. He would never be able to fully engage with him, but at least he could still touch and see him in real life. It was the only positive outcome he could hope for.

The uneasy look on Erica’s face when he walked in the next morning was not good for Derek’s false hope. He tried to feign ignorance, waving nonchalantly and heading into the staff room without starting a conversation like he usually did.

It didn’t work. Her red, manicured claws grabbed his jacket and before he got any further, dragging Derek against his will into the staff bathroom off of the lobby. Being cornered in a bathroom by Erica wasn’t really how he thought his morning would go. Though, he wasn’t terribly surprised, either.

“Did you see the news?”

Derek turned his face away from her and looked into one of the bathroom’s gilded mirrors, not wanting to have this conversation.

“What news? The news that a person that I do not recognize, who has never been here, is getting married? Yes, I did.”

Erica glared at him, her red lips pursed.

“Are you going to talk to him about it? Are you even… doing okay?”

Derek scowled at even the possibility of talking to him.

“You know I can’t do that. And I’m... I’m fine. Laura and Cora think nothing’s going to change and he’ll still come by. Other than that, I don’t know. I can’t do anything, Erica.”

Erica chewed her lip, clearly unconvinced. “Well, he hasn’t called or anything. His contract still stands as of right now,” she mumbled, causing Derek to groan loudly.

This was so against protocol. He wasn’t even supposed to know any of this; if Lydia caught them there would be a lawsuit the size of New York.

“Shut up, I know you’re nuts about the guy. Your stupid gaga eyes could be seen from space every time he’s booked in. You are so lucky I work Thursdays instead of Isaac; Lydia would have your head if she knew what you two were doing.”

Derek shook his head, reaching to unlock the door.

“We’re not doing anything, everything that happens during those appointments follows regulation to the fucking dot.” Derek ran his hands over his face in frustration. “I would know, because I’m the one who has to keep reminding him!” he growled, Erica rolling her eyes.

She turned to the mirror to touch up her lipstick.

“I just want you to be happy, and this is kind of a shitstorm. I think Laura and Cora are onto something though- he would have cancelled days ago, or at least said something yesterday, if he was planning to cancel. People don’t just decide to get married day-of, he must have known this was happening. I'm sure you’ll be fine.”

Derek held onto the doorknob tightly, thinking about her words. It was true. A lot of preparation went into proposing. Tying up loose ends with your side-piece probably fell under that. It still hurt though, now that he knew that Stiles had been preparing to ask her to marry him even yesterday while they’d been together. Obviously, Stilinski wouldn’t have told him about it, but the clueless bliss Derek had had during the appointment still stung in retrospect.

He smiled faintly at Erica, finally turning the knob on the bathroom door as he said, “I hope so too.”

“You’ll be the first to know if there’s any changes,” she threw over her shoulder, moving onto fixing her eyeliner, clearly done with the conversation.

Derek stepped out of the staff bathroom stealthily, glancing both ways down the corridor before heading down the carpeted hallway towards the attendant quarters.

If Erica thought it would be fine, then it would be fine. He trusted her. They saw this kind of thing with client registration all the time. But this knowledge didn’t quell the heavy feeling in his chest, a constant reminder of the dread he was carrying around.

The rest of Derek’s week was…. fine. He had a thin line of stress underlining everything he did, even through his regular appointments. They were carrying on just as satisfactorily as usual, but his personal life could have been better.

The news of Stilinski’s wedding was everywhere.

Derek couldn’t ignore it, even if he wanted to.

People on the subway talked about it, news boards had it plastered everywhere, even the front covers of magazines screamed with photos of the happy couple. It was excruciating. He felt like he was running the gauntlet with no one to help him. He was just another face in the crowd that had a secret no one could even begin to understand.

Every time he heard some rich lady in Starbucks spoke excitedly about getting an invite to the wedding or how lucky Heather Bellamy was, all Derek wanted to do was yell about how he was the one fucking her fiancé.

He was the one who knew how to make him mewl like a kitten. He was the one who could turn him into a puddle of wanting. He was the one who found constellations in his freckles and who could make him come apart at the seams in seconds. He was the one who knew him, quite literally, inside and out.

But he couldn’t say any of it.

According to his contract, Derek was nothing more than a glorified prostitute who didn’t even know the guy’s name.

So to say he was anxious about their upcoming appointment was a massive understatement. He tried to have hope like Erica did, but his gut told him that it wouldn’t end well. He could feel it in his bones.

Stiles was going to cancel their contract, and then Derek would have to carry on with seeing the celebrity marriage plastered everywhere for the rest of his life.

Stiles wouldn’t care if Derek had stupidly fallen for him, he was just the side-piece he paid to spend time with him. Stiles didn’t feel like Derek did. No matter how many small smiles and snarky comments he snuck to Derek, Stiles didn’t care about him. He couldn’t.

It wasn’t the first time Derek had seen his former clients get married. In the past, he’d been happy for them and everyone moved on. Some of their marriages lasted, some didn’t, and they occasionally ended up returning to The Parlor for companionship.

This one, though.

This one hurt.

And Derek knew it was only going to get worse.

When he walked into The Parlor’s lobby Thursday morning with a tray of coffees, mostly to appease Erica, he saw the look on her face and just knew.

She just gave him a sad smile, Derek setting down the coffees and bracing his hands on the wooden counter.

Erica looked down at her computer hesitantly, shaking her head.

“He called this morning,” she whispered, voice gentle. Which was saying something, as normally she would be furious on his behalf. It must have been bad if she was so sympathetic.

Derek nodded after a minute of collecting himself, ignoring the cracking broken feeling in his chest and clearing his throat.

“Alright. Um, I gotta shower.”

“Derek-”

He looked at her, Erica checking over her shoulder towards Lydia’s office.

“I got you the Commodore Suite since the Penthouse is under renovation,” she said weightily, her brown eyes serious.

Derek froze, staring back at Erica with wide eyes. The Commodore Suite was the only room without a two-way mirror. No one would be able to see what happened inside. It was technically off-limits for attendants and clients since it was under construction to fit the Parlor’s surveillance standards. It was locked and made up as a resting suite until renovations were complete. Only the manager had the key.

Clients were never brought there because the lack of surveillance violated their contracts.

“Erica,” he warned.

“Lydia’s not in until 3, and if she says anything, I’ll just say there was a scheduling error. Go, you have half an hour before he gets here.” She pulled the card key out from under her planner where she’d hidden it, and Derek stared at the gold card in awe.

Erica could get fired for doing this for him. Probably arrested too.

He took it, shoving the key card into his back pocket and nodding grimly.

“Thank you,” he whispered, Erica grinning and turning her chair back to the desktop in front of her.

“Today better be some of your best work, or you have to buy me that new Jaguar I’ve been looking at,” she cackled. Derek smiled and pushed through the entrance to the staff locker rooms.

She’d given him the opportunity he’d been craving since the beginning of their contract eight months ago.

But Derek decided to carry on as if there was still surveillance in the room, because he didn't know if Stilinski would even want to touch and talk and kiss like they weren’t allowed. Derek very much wanted to, but he couldn’t make that decision for them.

He went through his routine quickly, showering in the marble-accented attendant locker rooms. Derek blow dried his hair and tried to make himself as presentable as possible, working with shaking hands and a battle of emotions inside him.

He was excited for real privacy with Stiles, but the misery of this being their last interaction still ate at him. Derek could only think about how truly bittersweet it was going to be, now he finally understood what that phrase meant.

He collected a to-go kit of variable lubes and moisturizers from the attendant station near the door, knowing there wouldn’t be any supplied in the Commodore Suite. These kits were meant to be quick back-ups in case the suites were running low before the cleaning crews went in or, in this case, there was none at all.

Derek headed to the elevators, jittery. He didn’t even know what the inside of the Commodore Suite looked like; he’d never had a valid enough reason to go in before.

Testing the forbidden card key was a bit nerve-wracking. But just like all the other suites, the sensor flashed green and Derek pushed open the heavy door to peek inside.

The Commodore Suite was themed around dark wood and burgundy fabrics. It consisted of a sitting area and a king-sized bed at the back of the room, two couches facing each other with a flat screen on the entry door’s wall. The bed was decked out in a deep wine colored comforter with gold accents. Derek liked the room, it was an aesthetic he would probably have put in his own home if he were to redecorate. But he didn’t have time to appreciate the furniture right now.

He closed the door and walked to the bed, placing his kit down on the nightstand before turning all the pillows over on the couches. Derek turned on the lamp lights, pulled bottles of water out of the mini fridge and set them on the coffee table, then finally came to stand in the middle of the room when he was out of things to prepare.

He sat gingerly on one of the couches, wringing his hands anxiously.

After several minutes of silently panicking, the door unlocked and Stilinski peered around it, looking curiously at the new environment. He smiled when he spotted Derek, glancing over his shoulder and waving to his bodyguard out in the hallway. Derek stood, hands behind his back from habit and watched his client look around the room.

Stiles arched his brow and nodded at the room in question, and Derek cleared his throat in response.

“The penthouse is going through renovations,” he lied, watching his client nod and head straight to the large bed, shedding his trademark red sweater on the way. The change in their environment clearly made no difference to him. Some clients were pissy about getting the room they wanted, but Stiles never cared. He just picked the Penthouse because it was the first one on the list when he signed the contracts, according to Erica's gossiping.

Derek wasn't confident about why he didn’t come out and say they were completely alone. He knew Stiles liked him, but he didn’t know if he liked Derek enough to want to break the rules and stray from the normal format of their appointments.

Derek watched him from the sitting area tensely, his eyes going to Stiles’ left hand out of uncontrolled anxiety.

There was a surprising lack of a wedding ring.

Stilinski dropped onto the foot of the bed, like he usually did. He seemed different today, though. He didn’t look excited to start like he usually did; this time he was wringing out his hands just like Derek had been moments before, staring at him morbidly from across the room. There was a heavy weight on his shoulders. He really did look exhausted and wrung out, not like a cheerful husband-to-be.

As if being called by Stiles’ miserable appearance, Derek wandered over and stood in front of him, looking down at Stiles’ hand in question.

Stiles noticed the look, dropping his gaze to his left hand and fanning his fingers out. He wiggled his fingers up at Derek purposefully, as if he was saying ‘I took it off for this’.

Derek swallowed hard, glancing around the room and wondering what he should think of that admission.

“So, I’ve… I’ve been notified that this is your last appointment,” he said quietly, and Stiles seemed surprised that Derek was actually speaking.

He nodded slowly, following the rules like he had learned to months ago. No excessive talking, only body language. He still wasn’t aware that the rules didn’t apply in this room.

Derek nodded, eyes shut tight as he tried to think about how he should act. Usually, for last appointments, they would carry on as usual and afterwards would have a closing discussion reviewing their experience with The Parlor. Derek didn’t want to have that conversation. Hopefully, Erica would take the bullet and do it for him.

He opened his eyes to see Stiles’ brow furrowed at him in concern, his hand lifted as if he wanted to touch him but knowing he wasn’t allowed. Derek had scolded him more than enough about that rule, but now the only thing he wanted was for Stiles to touch him.

Derek impulsively lifted his hand to twine their fingers together, much to Stiles’ quiet surprise.

“Do you have any special requests?” he whispered.

Stiles hesitated. Derek watched him look around at the mirrors on the walls, thinking they were being watched.

“But…” he looked back up at Derek expectantly.

Derek nearly smiled, proud of Stilinski’s self control. He shrugged lightly, squeezing his hand to encourage him.

“Last requests,” he whispered.

Stiles stared at him heavily, suddenly gripping his hand tight.

“Can I be on my back? I want to see you. And can you take off the uniform? And- And I don’t want to use protection this time. We’re both clean, they wouldn’t let me in here if we weren’t, and I don’t care about cleaning up after,” he blurted nervously, apparently having had his requests lined up and ready to go, just in case.

His eyes glanced over Derek’s white Attendant outfit in premeditated excitement, obviously having thought about this before.

Derek nodded slowly in surprise, eyes wider then they had been moments ago. None of those requests were what he expected. He didn’t really know what he had expected though, and he was shamefully relieved that Stiles had something prepared anyway.

Slowly, Derek let go of Stiles' hand to unbutton his uniform shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders as he felt Stilinski’s eyes on him. He’d never taken his shirt completely during their appointments, but Derek knew what he looked like. There was a reason he had the highest client approval ratings at The Parlor.

Before he started on his pants, he noticed Stiles rushing to pull off his own clothes, as if trying to match Derek’s speed.

It brought a smile to his face, pushing down the waistband of his uniform to the floor and stepping out of them. He had never been so completely nude during an appointment. He resisted the urge to tell Stiles, to show him how much he meant to him and prove himself, instead he set back his shoulders and folded his arms to wait.

Derek got distracted watching Stiles throwing his pants away, not wearing any underwear or a t-shirt under his red sweater today. He shoved himself back onto the bed, right into the middle of the mattress like he usually did, legs splayed shamelessly in anticipation.

Derek glanced at the head of the bed, restraining himself from suggesting that they get under the blankets. For some reason it felt far more intimate to be under the blankets, and as much as Derek wanted that, as far as Stiles knew, this was still a regular appointment.

“Can I talk?”

Derek looked back to him in surprise and saw how truly anxious he was. Stiles was sitting in the center of the bed, arms draped loosely over bent knees, no longer splayed, while watching Derek with nervous eyes. His fingers were clenched tight, betraying the relaxed position he was going for.

Derek stood self-consciously at the foot of the bed, hands folded politely in front of his waist and thinking about if he could. Hearing Stiles talk honestly might just make his heart give out. It was terrifying, but if it meant they could be more natural together, the temptation was too much.

After thinking about it for a few minutes, Derek pinched his fingers together in response, saying he could a little bit.

Stiles bit his lip, reaching out both hands towards him, asking him to come onto the bed.

“I’ve been wanting to see you like this for nearly a year,” he whispered, Derek arching a brow and catching him in the lie.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Fine, eight months. Since the minute I saw you.”

Derek smirked, finally crawling onto the bed to approach him after the admission.

He nudged Stiles’ knees apart, boldly moving between his legs to push him back onto the mattress. It was probably the closest Derek had ever allowed himself to come to touching his body to Stiles’. He still didn’t touch him at all, but as Stiles leaned back on his arms, he stared up in awe.The close proximity was not going unnoticed.

“Can I touch?” Stiles whispered, and Derek shook his head strictly.

He saw the look of disappointment, even as Derek was leaning down even closer. But instead of kissing him like it appeared he was going to, Derek gently pressed his forehead against Stiles’. It was just intimate enough to make his chest ache, and Derek shut his eyes because seeing him so close just hurt more. He could feel the way Stilinski’s breath wavered in surprise, Derek pulling away after a minute to look at the head of the bed.

Derek reached across his body to grab the Attendant Kit, knocking it onto the pillows while trying to pick out the lube Stiles liked. Derek heard him laugh from under him as he knocked it over, huffing as he pushed himself back to sit between Stiles’ legs, the space between them reforming its familiar chasm.

This was the simple part. But their new position, with Stiles on his back, was a game changer.

He was used to seeing the constellations on his back and the familiar swell of his ass. Never before had Derek had such a gloriously unobstructed view of Stiles’ cock.

He wasn’t opposed. He’d seen it before, but to have him splayed out like this made it difficult to hold his own erection back. Derek ignored it, knowing Stiles was watching and staring at him, moving a hand under one of Stilinski’s knees to spread him out wider. Stiles settled onto his back, already breathing a bit heavier from anticipation, his hands clenched tight in the sheets under him.

Derek moved on to lubing his fingers and delicately touching the cleft of his ass, glancing at Stiles for reaction. This was new for both of them, they didn’t ever get to watch each other like this. Not only was Derek able to see Stiles’ facial reactions for the first time but Stiles was able to see Derek’s shameful routine of cataloging every reaction he could witness.

But when Derek actually moved his fingers to Stiles’ hole, something he was intimately familiar with, he was surprised to find he’d already been worked open. Derek glanced up from his fingers and arched a brow at Stiles, who just shrugged timidly.

“I didn’t want to waste our time.”

Derek hummed and took the opportunity to abruptly slide two fingers in without warning, causing his client to flinch and curl in on himself, his thigh shaking against Derek’s hand. He fingered in deep with no hesitation, because he knew Stiles could take it, staring down at his fingers and taking a moment to watch before he had to move on.

Stilinski was already hard and leaking and was letting out small whimpering noises whenever he was touched someplace new. Derek had moved onto three fingers after feeling confident in Stiles’ ability, mostly just playing with him since he had a few extra minutes. Derek licked his lips, mouth dry from watching Stiles writhe under his hands and choosing to pull out his fingers, ignoring the sound of indignation from above.

He gently lowered Stilinski’s leg, sitting back on his heels and finally putting a hand on his own cock as his free hand rubbed the inside of Stiles’ thigh tenderly. He pulled himself a few times, catching Stiles’ eyes. The look he got back was desperate, his client swallowing hard and trying to spread his legs even more than he was capable. This time, Derek didn’t have to stop to pull on a condom, and the dirty pleasure of knowing nothing would be separating them uncoiled in his gut.

Derek touched a hand to the underside of Stiles’ ass, sweetly rubbing him as Derek moved closer.

He slowly pressed the head of his cock in, eyes locked on Stiles for any negative reactions. After a tense moment of no objections and a shuddering nod, Derek dropped his hands to either side of Stiles’ waist to press deeper. Stiles hiccuped loudly, chest flushed red and reaching up limply, hands clasping at air because he couldn’t touch him. Even at this intimate angle, he wasn’t allowed to touch Derek and the sweet boy was still trying to follow the rules. It hurt Derek to see him try.

He shut his eyes tight, listening to his partner’s breathing and the feeling of being inside him, trying to focus on moving his hips instead of the painful image of Stiles under him.

Quite suddenly, Derek realized this was the last time he would get to do this.

One of his arms gave out, dropping him lower before he caught himself, clenching his teeth in frustration. It was hard to pretend he was fine when they were facing each other like this. He couldn’t hide it behind Stiles’ back anymore.

He wasn’t fine. Derek wasn’t going to be fine at all.

“H- Hale-” He opened his eyes to see Stiles staring at him in concern, leaning up toward him as much as he could.

“Derek,” he gritted out. “My name’s Derek.”

The shy smile that came from Stiles was beautiful, a comforting reaction to the terror that had burrowed into Derek’s core at admitting his first name. He pressed in deeper, trying to keep some kind of pace, dropping his head in disappointment. He’d broken so many rules today. The worst one he’d broken had been telling his client his name.

“My name’s Stiles.”

Derek stilled, looking up slowly.

But the smile Stilinski wore was sad, like he wanted to crack a joke about the situation but he knew it wasn’t funny. Clearly Derek knew his name, there was no way in Hell Derek didn’t know who he was. But the simple and raw introduction, as if Stiles wasn’t an A-list Hollywood actor, was hilarious in the most painful and sad way.

Maybe if they’d met as strangers in a coffee shop, or in a park on a random afternoon, it would have all been different.

Derek choked out a laugh, shaking his head and shifting his body slightly, nearly forgetting that he was supposed to be fucking him.

“I- I know,” he laughed brokenly, feeling his eyes beginning to sting. He lifted a hand to rub at his eyes, but then there was arms around his shoulders, clinging onto him tightly.

Derek stiffened, not expecting to be touched.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles rasped, voice rough with emotion. It hurt.

Derek just shook his head, eyes clenched tight, and curled into Stiles’ embrace.

He wrapped his arm around Stiles, breathing him in for truly the first time. He was so warm. Derek clung back, curved down over his body with his face pressed to Stiles’ neck. This was the only place he wanted to be, to hide in his arms and never let go.

At some point, after clinging desperately to each other for several minutes, he’d remembered to move, that they were supposed to be having sex, and began to slowly push back into Stiles’ body at a dragging pace. Derek could feel nails catching onto his shoulder blades, legs wrapping around his hips, he could feel Stiles’ cock digging into his ribs from where he pressed down on him. He could feel so much. Derek had forgotten how much touching was involved after so many years of following The Parlor’s strict rules during sex.

Stiles’ breath was hitching in his ear, small whimpering sounds starting up as they moved together at a steady pace. Derek refused to move from his arms from around Stiles, clinging to him as he fucked into his body under him, Stiles’ hips shakily attempting to meet each thrust.

Derek knew he was probably crying.

He was so far gone. He somehow managed to steadily keep breathing, trying to keep composure and not outright sob against Stiles’ collarbone like some dramatic paramour. But there were absolutely tears involved.

Something must have changed, because he felt hands pushing at his chest, pushing him off from caging in Stiles’ body.

Derek thought maybe he’d just wanted space, maybe his silent weeping was a turn off, but Stiles kept pushing him back till Derek was sitting up, his expression set in determination.

Derek could only watch as Stiles rearranged them, touching him everywhere to position Derek’s body before climbing into his lap like a spider monkey. Derek wrapped an arm around his waist as soon as he had the chance, holding his breath when Stiles abruptly dropped down onto his cock without warning. Then the arms were back around his neck, clinging to him tight while Stiles took control.

Derek hadn’t had authentic, genuine sex in something close to four years. Nothing like this. It was bringing back emotions he’d forgotten even existed. He could only stare up at Stiles with pathetic devotion and just fall in love all over again.

So Derek hid his face to Stiles’ neck, panting weakly against his skin to stop himself.

“I’m sorry.” Stiles was curling over him, shaking from the strain.

Derek shook his head again, not wanting to hear it.

“Shut up.”

“I am, though. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

If Derek was concerned with being the only one crying, he didn’t have to worry anymore. The broken sound of Stiles’ apology was agonizing, the small hiccups and wet heaving.

“Stiles, please shut up.”

Derek hugged him closer, trying to console him the best way he knew how, reaching up to cup the back of Stiles’ neck and pulling him into a kiss.

The responding groan and hands to his jaw were an immediate encouragement, Stiles pressing into the kiss hard and pushing Derek backwards onto the mattress, a loud groan of delight breaking the miserable silence. It was a relief to know he wasn’t the only one who’d been wanting this.

Stiles curled over him, grinding his hips down onto Derek while kissing him brainless, meeting him with just as much enthusiasm. Derek’s hands slid down his back to Stiles’ ass, relishing the freedom he had to finally touch him like he wanted to. He wasn't going to hold back after the floodgates had been opened. Derek bent his knees, fucking up into Stiles’ movements as one of his hands reached to the front and touched Stiles’ erection for the very first time.

Derek felt the muscles around his cock clench, Stiles stopping the kiss and grabbing onto Derek’s shoulders hard.

“Fuck, are- Wait, we're not supposed to kiss right?”

“No, it's fine, last requests-” Derek murmured, pulling him back into the kiss again as he curled his fist to presume jerking Stiles off.

A choked moan answered him, Stiles pressing into the kiss again and working his hips further onto Derek’s cock. They alternated between kissing and clinging to each other, between chasing release and trying to prolong it for as long as possible.

Stiles swore loudly when he realized Derek was trying to make Stiles come before him- after months of being denied, Stiles wasn’t going to let Derek get away with that. He worked his hips like a goddamn pro, riling Derek up astonishingly quick before pulling off and using his hands to finish Derek off against the cleft of his ass. Soon after, he came with Derek’s hands on him, shaking like a leaf and breathing hard into his neck, sounding wrecked as he trembled on top of Derek.

Derek’s arms snaked around Stiles’ back protectively as they caught their breath, eyes clenched shut and no longer lost in the bliss of being able to kiss him freely. Reality was rapidly crashing down around him.

He carefully tipped them to the side, pulling Stiles close under him and kissing him again. Stiles’ hands slid into his hair, his grasp tight and body wrapping around him. It was several minutes later when Derek stopped the kiss; he never thought something could hurt so much. He propped his head on the burgundy comforter, staring silently at Stiles as he felt hands roaming over his back.

Stiles dejectedly stared back, lips plush from their hard kissing and his jaw red from Derek’s stubble. They weren’t hiding anything, the evidence was clear they’d broken Parlor rules.

Hopefully Lydia wouldn’t be in yet and Erica would send Stiles off quickly enough. But to be honest, he didn’t really care.

Derek was ready to lose his job for this, right then.

Stiles looked like he wanted to say something and was hesitating over his words, but Derek knew the feeling well, so he just shook his head to stop him. Instead, he reached for one of Stiles’ hands and weaved their fingers together, squeezing tight; his silent way of telling Stiles it was alright.

Derek tenderly pressed the back of Stiles’ hand to his lips after a minute, just wanting to lay with him before it was over. Stiles understood, pressing close and burrowing into his arms. Derek closed his eyes, breathing in the unfamiliar scent of Stiles’ shampoo and sweat. To think, they’d been so close for so long and he hadn’t even known how Stiles smelled until now.

When the knock on their door finally came, it sounded like the thud of a guillotine.

Derek jerked up, leaning on his arm and pulling Stiles closer under him. No one ever knocked, so the fear of it being Lydia or one of the other attendants was very real to him.

Stiles shifted against him, shaking his head against his shoulder and patting Derek’s back.

“It’s Boyd. My bodyguard. We must be late,” came from under his arm, Derek looking down at Stiles in understanding.

He shakily nodded, though was having a hard time letting go. When he managed to release his arm from around him, Stiles pressed his forehead to Derek’s shoulder in return, breathing him in one last time before gathering the courage to move away.

Derek lay down on his side and watched, something he never allowed himself to do.

Today, he could only lay there and watch hollowly as Stiles pulled on his clothes, hands clenched in comforter under him. He’d managed to sit up by the time Stiles had dressed, still naked as he watched him from the bed in heavy silence.

Stiles stood in the center of the room, staring across at Derek with a haunted look. He was fighting the urge to say something again, brown eyes anxious. Derek could only stare back, knowing this was it. This was the end.

After staring at each other for what seemed like an hour, there was sharper knock on the door- this time, demanding a response. Stiles broke their eye contact, glancing over his shoulder to the door and looking nervously back at Derek.

Derek gave a slim smile, trying to convey that it was alright. By the way Stiles pursed his lips, he knew it was a lie. Derek felt his eyes begin to sting as he watched Stiles turn back to the door.

Silently, Stiles glanced behind him one last time before opening the door, overwhelmed and red-eyed.

Derek looked to the window, not able to watch him walk out and hugging his knees to his chest.

When the door clicked shut, Derek finally let the tense ball of anxiety that had been collecting in his chest go. He pressed his face to his knees shakily, sobs wrecking through him after holding them in for so long, sitting alone in that suite for what seemed like hours.

Chapter Text

Somehow, Derek managed to survive the months leading up to Stiles’ wedding.

Erica had scheduled him for three days off after their last appointment for ‘personal reasons’- mostly so Lydia wasn’t made aware of anything going on in case his behavior changed, but it also gave him time to grieve.

And he managed.

But the night after their last appointment was probably the loneliest night of his life.

Up until the previous day, Derek had believed his loneliest night was the first after he moved out of his parents’ house. He’d never been alone on his own for so long and he had to start school the next day. He ended up spending the whole night watching reruns of Laura’s old Golden Girls DVDs that she’d snuck into his bag. The sounds of his beaten up bachelor apartment were new and terrifying and, compared to the forests of NorCal Beacon Hills, the unfamiliar streets of Brooklyn were just nerve-wracking and awful. He’d eventually gotten used to it, but that anxiety-ridden night was forever ingrained into his memory. Of course, that had been a cakewalk compared to now.

That night, he came home from work and the same shaky, terrified feeling was back. This time he had his home, his well-worn apartment he’d lovingly built up over the last six years of his life- but it just felt empty. He managed to change into sweats before crawling into bed, phone and wallet lost in his pants somewhere on the kitchen floor.

He curled into the smallest ball he could, pulling the comforters high over his head and feeling every bit the little boy he was that first night he moved into his shitty apartment in Brooklyn. Didn’t matter that he was twenty-eight years old, owned his own apartment in Manhattan and made six figures a year; none of that shit fucking mattered. He was so goddamn alone.

He knew he could call Laura or Cora; they knew everything about the situation. He could call Erica, or even his mom. But how was he supposed to explain that it felt like his chest had been gutted? That Stiles had actually kissed him back? That he didn’t want to let go at the end either? How about how he’d introduced himself, apologized, and treated Derek like a real person right up to the very end, not just some glorified whore?

How could he tell anyone that this big movie star liked him back and had been crying too. Right now it was hard to convince even himself it that had been real. He couldn't tell anyone these things.

After he had shakily told them what happened, Laura and Cora had stayed over for the rest of the week and enforced every break-up remedy they could think of, including dragging all the mattresses in Derek’s apartment into the living room for a family sleepover and eating more pints of ice cream than he could count. Erica joined them for a while too, bringing a batch of her grandmother’s cookies to help the cause when she had the night off.

As loving as they all were to him, none of it mattered when Derek had to go out in public by himself. The nonstop coverage of the wedding was unbearable.

He was bombarded nearly everywhere he went- magazines announcing the wedding venue, billboards promoting the cake designer, or women on the street praising the bride’s stupid European dress. Even his goddamn social media harassed him when he got home; most of his friends and family were constantly talking about how lucky Bellamy was to marry Stilinski. The fucking idiots.

Only Derek’s inner circle knew anything about his involvement with the man. He had to suffer in complete silence.

The only good part of the media’s obsession was their intense focus on the bride. It was a small mercy.

Of course, this all led to Derek developing a deep hatred for Heather Bellamy. He had never really liked her, even while Stiles was still his client, but now it was serious. She had no fucking idea how lucky she was.

Following some semblance of a routine helped, but waking up every day knowing he’d never get to talk to, let alone touch, him again was impossible. So on the nights when Derek couldn’t sleep, wracked with stress and anger over idiotic feelings, he would stupidly watch interview clips of the couple discussing their movies and scrawling through fan accounts of Stilinski’s acting career.

The weeks leading up to the wedding were insufferable and Derek had even taken to wearing headphones everywhere he went to avoid hearing any mention. He had muted those of his friends on social media who talked about it regularly and he begun reading books more than watching tv for the fear of seeing Stilinski on screen.

He just hoped that the anxiety and stress would stop once everyone lost interest after the marriage, and then he could work on trying to healing his stupid broken heart.

The Big Day was a Tuesday in the middle of June.

Derek didn’t have any appointments until the one that afternoon with a long time client who went by ‘Duke’. Duke’s were always easy appointments, consisting mostly of listening and, occasionally, gentle hand holding. Some of Derek’s clients didn’t see him solely for sexual purposes- he was also a great listener. As long as it was a one-way conversation, discussion-based consultations were absolutely permitted.

So, by 11am, Derek was still standing in his kitchen drinking his third coffee of the morning, skimming through Twitter and punishing himself by reading all the hype about the #steatherwedding. He’d seen the various social media platforms advertise live-streams of the ceremony, something Derek thought was just rudely invasive.

Who would want their wedding to be broadcast live to the world? If he ever got married, he would want something small and private with his friends and family.

At this point, he was honestly surprised Stiles was still going along with the publicity. For a Hollywood celebrity, Stiles was very private. He wasn’t active on Twitter or Instagram very often and whenever he went out in public, he wore dressed-down outfits to try to blend in. He rarely made any public appearances or attended extra publicity events. He wasn’t exactly a hermit celebrity, but he was almost there.

Of course, if Derek hadn’t been so attached to him, he wouldn’t have known any of this. But because he knew Stiles had gone to the Parlor for their highly discreet and confidential work, it was another good indication of how he felt.

The whole wedding was completely over the top. Maybe he’d never paid attention to celebrity weddings before, but this one seemed so much worse in comparison. How could Stiles be okay with it all?

He stared languidly at his Twitter feed, almost indifferent to it all by now. Indifferent wasn’t the right word, maybe numb. But it was nearly over.

It was only a dull, aching pain at this point, so he might as well watch it all unfold so he had the context to brood about it later.

He sipped the dregs of his coffee and clicked off his phone before meandering through the living room to go shower and get ready.

Derek had almost made it to his bedroom when there was a loud pounding on his front door, stopping him dead in his tracks. He frowned at the aggressiveness of the knocking, checking his phone for any texts from Laura or Cora, and then approaching the door cautiously upon seeing there were no new messages. The pounding continued all the while, loud and frantic.

He quickly tossed his phone onto the armchair, unlocking the door to stop the incessant banging.

To say he ever expected a tuxedo’d Stiles Stilinski on his doorstep would be an overstatement.

Stiles was breathing hard, looking like he’d just sprinted up the six flights of stairs of Derek’s building instead of bothering to use the elevator. He was in a fitted black tuxedo with dark red accents and a white rose boutonniere, and his hair was longer than the last time Derek had seen him and styled back almost painfully slick.

He was draped against the door frame to catch his breath, nearly wheezing.

By the time Derek finally processed that Stilinski was actually here, standing in front of him, in his wedding tux and not at the wedding venue where he was supposed to be getting married- he thought he was going to have a stroke.

“Good- you’re still here.. Thank God,” Stiles gasped out, trying to collect himself enough to stand up straight.

Derek just stared down at the expensive tuxedo, eyes wide in stunned silence.

This wasn’t happening.

“You have no idea how much I had to beg your receptionist for your address.”

“The fu- you can’t do that, Stiles!” Derek blurted, eyes huge in horror at the admission. He was going to get them all arrested!

“Trust me, it wasn’t easy. Can I come in? I’d rather not do this while your neighbor stares at me from down the hall.” Stiles motioned down the corridor awkwardly, swallowing hard as he tried to catch his breath.

Derek looked out and saw his neighbor Gloria peeking out of her door to watch all the commotion. She’d probably recognize Stiles any second now, the likelihood only increasing the longer he was out in the open.

He grabbed Stiles’ arm and dragged him into the apartment, slamming the door behind them.

Derek locked the door before turning and staring at Stiles, not sure if he was real. But this Stiles was fumbling with his suit in Derek’s hallway, looking severely out of place dressed in what was probably a half-a-million dollar suit by some impossibly-named European designer. He was currently trying not to stare around Derek’s apartment in curiosity and failing miserably.

“Why are you here? Aren’t you- You’re supposed to be getting married today. Right now, actually- I think,” Derek finally managed, just staring at him in frustrated confusion as he came to terms with the reality of the situation.

Stiles looked at him, staring at him with his stupid big brown eyes in sudden, exhausted finality.

“It was all fake. All of it.”

Derek blinked hard, reeling. “What?”

“My relationship with Heather. All of it was fake. Our agents set it up years ago- She has a new movie coming out and it was going to bomb so they orchestrated us to get married as a publicity stunt. I already won an Oscar last year and she was falling behind in ratings, so they said it was the ‘perfect opportunity’ to renew public interest.”

The look of shame on his face was soul-crushing.

Derek stared at him in stunned silence for a long moment, not sure what to believe.

“But- but you.. No. I need to sit down.”

Derek just shook his head, ignoring Stiles in favor of leaving the hallway to drop onto his couch. He propped his arms on his knees, rubbing his eyes with his palms and trying to calm his heart. He couldn’t process all of this so quickly.

He could hear Stiles awkwardly shuffle into the living room, undoubtedly studying all the little personal touches that were scattered around his home. Maybe, it was just because Stiles was nosy, but it was probably because they knew so little about each other. Derek would have done the exact same.

Stiles stood in front of the mantlepiece over the gas-lit fireplace, silently studying the photos of Derek’s sisters and friends, shoulders horridly straight because of the stiff tuxedo and multicolored jewels glinting in his cufflinks. What a clown costume.

Stiles Stilinski was really in Derek’s apartment, donned in full wedding regalia.

“Why did you come here?” Derek finally asked, breaking the heavy silence that had settled.

He didn’t want to distrust him, but he’d been through a lot of anguish in the last few months.

Stiles turned to him, looking for a place to sit before choosing Cora’s La-Z-boy. He chose his words before speaking, hands rubbing together shakily in his lap.

“I’ve been telling myself you probably treated all your clients like me- that I wasn’t special.”

Stiles swallowed hard, and Derek tensely watched his throat bob.

But he was special. Derek never treated any of his clients like he had Stiles.

“But you told me your name, and- and I couldn’t get that out of my head after the appointment. I thought I was gonna be fine, after my agent made me cancel the contract, and I knew it was gonna suck, because really- I went there for you; not the sex.” He waved his hands towards Derek as he spoke, eyes darting between Derek and the room on every other word.

So Derek’s eyes tracked his fingers as he listened, distracted by the movements; he didn’t know Stiles used his hands when he spoke.

“But I’m locked into a contract for this phony relationship with Heather. In four years we’re supposed to get divorced, and that was when my contract was supposed to end. But I was a stupid twenty-two year old who couldn’t make rent and was stuck doing Shakespeare in the park, and I signed it even through I fucking knew I was gay- it was all bullshit from the start! The relationship never even benefitted me, I honestly think they did it just for her and I don’t even know why I signed it!” he gushed shrilly, Derek staring at him with wide eyes.

Stiles kept going, red-faced and frustrated.

“But during when we were going to have gotten divorced, I was going to have been painted in this horrible light like I was the bad guy in our marriage, and then what would have happened when I started dating? Everyone would have found out that I’m gay and then they would have assumed I had been cheating on her or something and that’s why we broke up. I was standing in my hotel room with my dad this morning getting ready and all I could think about was how you held my hand during the appointment and you actually looked me in the eye like I was a real person- how Heather had never hugged me like you did. We’re friends, always have been in this fake relationship thing, but seeing you for only an hour each week made me feel more than I did being in some bogus publicity stunt for the last four years.”

He’d slowed down, eyes dropped to the ground and hands back to ringing around each other. Derek wanted to reach out for them, but he wasn’t done and it was already hard to listen to.

“Leaving you in that room was the second hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I never thought saying goodbye would be as hard as it was when my Mom died- but... shit. Didn’t think I’d have to do it again so soon- It just hurt so much. E- Even if that’s just how you treat all your clients... I mean, you’re very good at your job.” He finished in an embarrassed whisper, voice cracking towards the end, hands twisting around each other.

He wore the same look Derek had been wearing for the last four months.

Derek stared at him silently, processing slowly.

“I never knew you talked this much,” he whispered, Stiles smiling shakily and finally looking at him.

“Yeah, when you were strict about the no talking thing in the beginning I was so sure I was gonna get kicked out or sued.”

Derek leaned back, clearing his throat and feeling like he finally had some footing on the situation.

“Stiles,” he said heavily, the actor sitting up at his name. “What are you doing here?”

Stiles stared at him, his posture wilting under the question. He didn’t look nearly as confident as he had when he was hanging from Derek’s doorway after running up six flights of stairs.

“I can’t marry Heather because I’m in love with you. I’m sorry if invading your home like this isn’t cool and- and you were just doing your job. I… I guess I got my signals mixed up, uh...” he admitted, glancing around the apartment and fidgeting with his cufflinks, looking like he was ready to run.

Derek snatched out and grabbed Stiles’ wrist, giving him a hard look.

“I don’t treat all my clients like I treated you. I’ve never taken off my clothes for them, kissed them, or told them my name. I’d never jeopardize my career for them like I did for you. Ever,” he whispered tensely, Stiles staring back with wide eyes.

Derek had a hard time verbalizing this, still having problems grasping that this was, in fact, reality.

“When I saw on the news that you were getting married- it crushed me. I’d even hoped maybe you were just fucked up enough to still carry on with our contract; even though you were off getting married to some big-name actress,” Derek admitted quietly, thinking about how Laura and Cora had thrown pieces of pad thai at his tv when they were interviewing Heather Bellamy on some late-night show.

“The room that we... the suite we were in that last time wasn’t under any kind of surveillance. Erica had scheduled it to look like The Penthouse was under renovation so we could be alone for the last time. The Commodore suite is strictly off limits for appointments because it’s the only suite in the facility that’s still completely private,” he confessed hesitantly.

Stiles frowned, not quite understanding yet.

“We were never at risk for getting caught?”

Derek nodded, covering his mouth. He didn’t want to tell anyone about that- all of this was breaking everything he’d been trained into for the last six years.

Stiles leaned far back into the chair, furrowing his brow at the new information and looking across the room.

Derek stared at the strain of Stiles’ thighs in the fitted pants, his shoes embroidered on an impressively detailed brogueing. He really did look handsome; almost obscenely so in the wedding tux, even if it was kind of obnoxious looking.

“Why not tell me from the start? That we were alone and could do anything we wanted?” It came out loud, almost upset.

“Because I didn’t want to assume you felt the same,” Derek said sharply, defensive. “I didn’t want to pressure you into something you potentially wouldn’t want.”

Stiles backed down at that, rubbing his eyes and sighing heavily.

“I hate how noble you are, it's stupidly attractive.”

“Stiles.”

“Okay, I understand. But why go to all those lengths? Can’t you get in serious shit for that? My contract was done- I was out. You’re still on and at risk,” Stiles carried on, clearly intent on breaking every little detail down. Derek appreciated it.

Derek nodded, rubbing his hands on his pajama-clad thighs.

“Yeah, I am. The Parlor’s contracts are some of the severest in the country. Telling you my name was probably the biggest rule I could have ever broken, working there.” But Derek had already come to terms with it.

Lydia hadn’t said anything or shown that she had any idea what happened, and so far no one had caught them. So far.

Stiles showing up at his apartment probably wasn’t a good idea.

“My first high profile client was a politician’s wife,” he offered after a quiet moment, Stiles gaping at him in surprise.

“She got very attached very quickly, and I was still new to the job. I hadn’t gotten the confidence to shut people down yet- like when I had to teach you to stop talking.” He waved to Stiles, who gave a weak smile. “She managed to get my name out of me and had added me on Facebook a few weeks later.

“Management follows our social medias as part of our NDAs and contracts when we sign on. When they saw that she found me, they sued her for millions as a breach of contract. Didn’t take too long for her husband to find out what happened and then New Jersey lost a federal judge and- well.. You can guess what happened after that,” he muttered.

Derek could still remember the look on Lydia’s face. It hadn’t been his fault, it was his client’s doing, but he learned a lesson that day. The next time it would be his job on the line. This time, it was entirely his fault.

Stiles had moved to the couch while Derek had been speaking, listening intently from a few feet away. His hands hung between his knees, long fingers woven loosely together.

Derek stared at Stiles’ hands, clenching his fingers tighter before having the courage to reach out. The way Stiles lifted his hand to meet his was reassuring.

“What did you have to do to get Erica to give you my address?” Derek asked curiously, eyebrow arched. “She had to go through military training to avoid these kinds of things.”

Stiles seemed to relax once Derek had began speaking again, no longer tense and scared of being kicked out and rejected. Especially since they were now holding hands.

But he just grinned at Derek’s question, threading his fingers between Derek’s.

“I begged her for your phone number and she blackmailed me into bringing her to lunch with Kit Harington.”

“You know Kit Harington?”

“Technically I don’t until summer of 2020.”

“Holy shit.”

“Hey- you probably know some big names too.”

“Yeah, but there’s a lot I’m not proud of.”

“Oh my god, who? Is it a Kennedy? Dave Franco? Is it Brad Pitt? Is it a Kardashian?!”

When Derek winced to the last one Stiles whooped, throwing his arms over his head, dragging Derek’s arm up with it. “I can’t believe you fucked a Kardashian!”

“Christ, lower your voice- I’m trying not to get arrested here!”

“Sorry, I’m just still getting over how my ass is a better fuck than a Kardashian’s.”

Derek raised his eyebrows in appalled belief, dropping Stiles’ hand in offense.

“No, no, we’re holding hands now you can’t stop.”

“Have you even told anyone about not getting married or did you just walk out?” Derek changed the topic, permitting Stiles to hold his hand again and resting his chin on his other palm.

This was completely insane.

Stiles calmed once the topic was brought back to reality, looking intensely at their hand holding.

“Yeah, I told Scott, my best friend, before I rushed over to the Parlor for your contacts. I kind of left my phone with my dad though,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Is your bodyguard with you?”

“No, Boyd’s with my dad. I took an Uber.”

Derek let go of his hand again once he heard that he hadn’t fixed anything and had essentially jeopardized his safety to get to his apartment. It wasn’t like this guy wasn’t an A-list celebrity or anything. He just took a fucking Uber.

Derek went for his own phone, which lay face down on an armchair, walking back to sit on couch next to Stiles. This time he sat directly beside him, only a few inches of space between them. Stiles seemed to notice, glowing under the attention.

Derek pulled up his Twitter feed again to do some research about how the rest of the world was handling it, showing Stiles the screen after only a short minute.

“Ceremony was at 11:30, right?” he wondered, scanning over the tweets idly.

Every other tweet seemed to be talking about how the Stiles had suddenly came down with food poisoning at last minute and the wedding was being postponed.

Derek hummed at the coverup, glancing at Stiles and seeing he was completely fine.

“Had some bad food last night?”

“Indian, actually. And it was awesome. Gimme that.”

Derek gave up his phone easily, watching in amusement as Stiles dialed in a phone number and lifted it to his ear.

Derek took the opportunity to really check Stiles out up close. He could see the jacket on his tux lift from his arm holding the phone to his ear. Like a giddy child who finally had permission to eat as much candy as they wanted, he reached out and slid a hand down the inside of Stiles’ thigh, feeling the stiff suit fabric under his fingers.

He watched in amusement as Stiles stiffened, glancing at Derek in mild alarm.

“Hey Dad, yeah, it’s me. I’m fine. Did you talk to Scott?”

Derek paused when he realized it was Stiles’ father, going to move his hand away, but Stiles grabbed it and kept it in place purposefully, giving Derek a hard look.

“I’m with him now. Look, after I hang up I need you to call Jackson... ‘Cause Derek might need a really good lawyer after this and I don’t want him to get in shit just because of me, that’s why.”

“Not a mistake,” Derek whispered, Stiles glancing at him fondly before squeezing his hand.

“Yeah, I know, I know. I’ll talk to her in person. I think she knew something was up anyway…. Yes, Dad, I know. Look, I’ll text you before I leave and meet you at the office in a few hours. Can you tell Heather I’m sorry? Thanks, I promise I’ll fix all of this… love you too. I’ll take you to that steak place you like. Okay, bye, see you soon.”

Derek liked hearing Stiles interacting with his father. It was a bit of a relief to know they loved each other so much because Derek was also close with his own family.

Stiles hung up the phone, handing it back to Derek and sighing heavily. Derek tossed it onto the coffee table, looking up when he felt hands pushing at his chest, nudging him down onto the couch cushions.

Then he was being kissed and Stiles was climbing on top of him and, after months of pining for the man in his lap, Derek highly approved. Derek was in the process of tugging at the dress shirt under his jacket when Stiles pulled away, hands resting on Derek’s jaw and staring down at him nervously.

“Is it stupid that I’ve been fantasizing about just being able to touch you again?”

“That’s been happening to me since we met.”

“Oh thank God, not just me then.”

“Considering we weren’t allowed to touch for the first eight months of our relationship, I’d say it’s normal.”

“Oh, we’re in a relationship, huh?”

“Stiles, you left your bride at the altar for me.” Derek began to smile, unable to stay straight faced.

“Alright, no more talking.”

Derek pulled him lengthwise onto the couch, arranging Stiles between his legs, shaking his head. “No, please- keep talking. I want to hear you talk for the rest of my life.”

“Jeez, you’re really gonna regret saying that.”

Derek only grinned, leaning up to nip at the exposed part of Stiles’ collar. Stiles tilted his head to give him more access, occupying himself by rubbing Derek’s arms and shoulders, eager to touch as much of Derek as he could.

Derek successfully tugged Stiles’ shirt out from the back of his pants, pushing the jacket off his shoulders before reaching for his belt. Stiles shrugged the jacket onto the floor in disdain and moved back in to kiss Derek, hands cupping his jaw like he was something precious.

Derek returned the soft kiss, feeling a piece of anxiety dislodging from inside his chest. He nearly purred when Stiles’ tongue met his own, having no intention of holding himself back any longer. He could finally be himself.

At the first sign of Derek’s enthusiastic response, Stiles arched against him and rolled his hips shamelessly, keen to get exactly what he wanted. But before Derek had a chance to adjust their positions, Stiles was pulling himself away, nipping at his lip before sliding down Derek’s body.

He tried to follow Stiles’ movements, hands grabbing anything within his reach. When Stiles settled into the V of his legs, Derek felt like he was going to have an aneurysm.

“You’re really fucking set on blowing me, aren’t you?” he murmured, lifting a hand to push back his hair.

Stiles only grinned, untying the chords of Derek’s flannel before rubbing his hands over the loose fabric to touch what lay beneath.

“Been waiting eight months- I want your dick in my mouth.”

Derek laughed hysterically, dropping his head back onto the arm of the couch and taking a second to process how beautifully crazy this all was. When he calmed, he managed to lift his hips to push down the elastic, catching Stiles off guard, who leaned away momentarily before settling once Derek sat again. He’d been able to shove them about halfway down his thighs, giving Stiles’ an awkward shelf to lay on as he adjusted himself, eyes set on Derek’s cock propped in front of him.

There was a brief moment where Derek considered that this could be one of those futuristic video games.

Cora had told him about this new platform where players wore a headset and they could play virtual reality porn. Celebrities were faked in those games all the time, maybe Stiles was too. Because having Stiles Stilinski staring at his cock like it was the holy grail had to be fake.

But when Stiles began to touch him, Derek quickly remembered he had actually slept with Stiles before and that this wasn’t nearly the first time they’d been together.

Well, it was definitely the first time Stiles was going to blow him. That was new.

 

He wasn’t completely flaccid, but it didn’t take long for Derek to get painfully hard with Stiles’ stupidly long fingers wrapped around him.

Derek relaxed back into the couch, eyes following every little movement he could at his current angle.

But Stiles seemed to be taking his time, set on memorizing every little insignificant detail of Derek’s cock. His lips did this weird little quirk before he glanced up at Derek.

“See, I didn’t even know you were uncut. You were always too far away.”

Not expecting that direct of a comment, Derek looked down at his own familiar erection with eyebrows raised, noticing the tips of Stiles’ fingers were indeed placed on his aforementioned foreskin. He could only shrug, wincing as Stiles shifted closer to get his mouth on him.

Everything moved fairly quickly after that, Stiles getting a surge in confidence almost immediately.

Derek gripped the back of the couch to restrain from bucking into the back of Stiles’ mouth while the other tried to gorge himself on Derek’s cock.

It was certainly impressive, the vigor and enthusiasm Stiles worked with.

At one point he swallowed hard around Derek, pressing his lips all the way down to to the base before swallowing him completely, tearing a broken sound from Derek’s throat unexpectedly. He didn’t know what he’d expected of Stiles’ fellatio skills before this, but it exceeded everything he could have dreamed of.

Derek finally managed to unlatch from the back of the couch, dropping it between Stiles’ shoulder blades and yanking hard on the expensive fabric for some sort of grip. Stiles arched into it, hands gripping onto Derek’s thighs as he swallowed harder, apparently intent on trying to deep throat him.

Derek managed to hold the back of his neck with his other hand, not pushing or pulling him, just trying to hold on for dear life. Everything was focused down to a single point, and it was in Stiles’ mouth.

When Stiles moved his arms around Derek’s waist, trying to get his hands on his ass, it surprised Derek enough into come suddenly down Stiles’ throat. The loud, wet slurping sounds that followed were verging on gross, and Derek was gasping loudly when he pulled off without warning before he dropped back against Derek’s thigh. Stiles just looked up and grinned at him.

The smug look he wore was only accentuated by the swollen lips and glossy sheen of his lower face.

Derek could only snicker, hands releasing their death grip to run over Stiles’ shoulders fondly before using the bottom of his shirt to wipe Stiles’ mouth.

Gratefully, Stiles let him, breathing softly against Derek’s skin where his head rested against his hip.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Derek whispered, unable to hide the tone of surprise. Stiles shrugged, slouching forward lazily to rest his face against Derek’s bare hip.

“I used an escort service before the Parlor. One night I wasn’t feeling it so instead he taught me how to deep throat. Turned into an intense workshop; we had practice toys and everything. Once I figured out how to push past all the grossness I took a real liking to it.” Stiles yawned, Derek letting his hands roam over his back while he listened, the stiff dress shirt crinkling beneath his hands.

Derek smiled at the anecdote, running his fingers over Stiles’ gelled hair.

“Are you going to take a nap or did you want me to return the favor?” he asked further, noticing how lethargic Stiles had become.

The movie star at his feet shook his head, eyes closed and suddenly flexing his hands on Derek’s ass.

Derek flinched, forgetting where they had been, catching the sly smirk on Stiles’ lip at the movement. Derek felt the hands move up, away to hug around his waist.

“Nah, just want to do this right now.”

Derek played with his hair silently, thinking about how stiff and crunchy all that gel was, only looking away when he noticed his phone light up on the coffee table. Vividly aware that they were on borrowed time, he stroked Stiles’ neck before reaching over.

“How about I deal with this, and then you can get your hands back on my ass. Preferably with your dick inside.”

The way Stiles’ whole body stilled was a good indication of how much he liked it, and Derek grinned as he grabbed the phone and wiggled his body down lower on the couch, Stiles crawling his way back up to lay on top of him.

Derek unlocked his phone as he settled, Stiles turning his head awkwardly to see what was important enough to interrupt them.

There were several different notifications waiting: an email from someone named Jackson Whittemore, an all caps text from a number Derek didn’t recognize, two missed phone calls from Erica, and a Facebook message from Cora, as well as several other unimportant notifications.

“Popular,” Stiles mumbled, Derek shaking his head and dialing Erica first.

“Only for you,” he sighed back, listening to the dial tone on the other end of the phone before putting it on speakerphone as an afterthought. After three dials, she picked up.

“Derek! Where are you? Did he find you? Were you having sex?”

“My entire career is having sex, Erica,” he drawled, Stiles snickering into his neck.

“Shut the fuck up, did he find you or not?”

“I don’t know what your talking about.”

“Derek, I swear to fuck!”

“I found him, we were having sex!” Stiles interrupted, sitting up eagerly only for Derek to shove a hand in his face as Erica cackled on the other line.

“You know we’re going to get fired for this, right?” Derek interrupted more seriously, feeling Stiles stiffen under his arm.

“See, I thought so too. But while Lydia was out for a smoke this morning, I went snooping through her files and found a contract for one of our former attendants. Remember Jennifer?”

Derek had to think for a minute, frowning as he tried to recall her.

“The brunette?”

“Yeah, she left a few months after you came on. Apparently, she had a favorite client, just like you do, and that client requested a face-to-face with her attendant under the owner’s supervision for an appeal in their contracts to discuss an out-of-work relationship. What ended up happening was Lydia said yes, but they were bound by a new custom contract written up just for them. Jennifer wasn’t allowed to work for the Parlor or any other companion service anymore since she’d broken contract by falling for a client.”

Derek frowned as he understood what Erica was explaining. He would have to give up his job. That was the only solution.

Stiles was silent, mouth tight and seeming to know he had no place in the conversation.

“Alright, uh… does Lydia have any idea about what’s going on?” Derek asked, trying to change the topic so he could have a moment to process.

“No, she doesn’t have a clue. But I’d suggest getting your ‘client’ to set up a consultation asap. Like, this afternoon asap. You can probably fit it in after Duke...”

“Who’s Duke?” Stiles whispered, Derek shaking his head and closing his eyes to think.

“Okay, we’ll do that. Thanks Erica, we appreciate it.”

“You better call me back, Stilinski.”

“Thanks Ericaaa- hey, you didn’t have to hang up on me.”

Derek sat up, unlocking and dropping his phone onto Stiles’ back and sliding out from under him. He managed to pull his pants back up before hunching over the edge of the couch and rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“Call… someone. Please,” he whispered, stretched far too thin.

Only a few hours ago he was ready to have his heart broken- now he was preparing to lose his job.

He felt Stiles touch his back weakly, listening to the sound of dialing behind him as he shifted to sit up on the couch, Derek leaning forward to give him room.

As Stiles spoke some guy named Whittemore, Derek stared around his apartment listlessly. It wasn’t a huge loss, to stop working at the Parlor. But he hadn’t really planned on leaving any time soon. It’s not like he had any work skills that were easily transferable. He did have a hefty nest egg to live off of, so that wasn’t a concern. He’d just have to try and reformat his whole life plan. That’s all.

This really shouldn’t have come as a shock to Derek, though. He kind of knew he was fucked by that first appointment with Stiles anyway.

He achingly leaned back into Stiles, who easily shifted to accommodate, arm sliding around his waist as he continued to speak on the phone. Derek leaned his head back against Stilles’ shoulder, eyes closed and just breathing him in. After he felt Stiles curl around him, fingers rubbing small circles into the curve of his hip and hugging him close as he worked, Derek knew he didn’t really care about this job. This was what he really wanted.

As he listened to Stiles talk, mildly impressed with the level of professionalism he held, Derek figured he was speaking to his lawyer. Which was probably a smart move. Once he finished the call, Stiles shifted to run his fingers through Derek’s hair, who hummed in response and felt lips pressing to the back of his neck.

“I can’t ask you to lose your job for me.”

Derek moved a hand over Stiles’ and squeezed.

“I stopped caring about my job the second I got my hands on you.”

“Oh god, the appointment where I came from you massaging my butt?”

“The very butt. Even in your ridiculous Spider-Man briefs. Better fuck then a Kardashian, too. Do you still own those?”

“Thanks, you have a nice ass too. And yes, but I bought new underwear after that appointment cause I couldn’t bare the thought of my really hot consort seeing those ever again.”

Derek smiled, shifting against chest and twisting around to look at him. “Since when have you seen my ass?”

Stiles scoffed, hugging Derek tight. “There’re mirrors all over the penthouse, I know every reflective surface in that suite. Not much I could have done ‘cause of the rules so had to make do.”

Derek shut him up by kissing him, grabbing a handful of Stiles’ crunchy gelled hair and smiling against his lips.

“After we fix everything with my boss, the first thing I’m going to do is ride you till you pass out.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Exactly. Now call Erica and set up the consult. I need to shower because I have an appointment in two hours. When you’re done, you can join me.”

“Is your appointment with Duke? Are you going to have sex with him?” The insecurity in Stiles’ voice made him smile, Derek shaking his head as he stood up.

“He’s just a lonely old man who wants someone to talk to.” Derek pointed at his phone, raising his eyebrows. “Make the call.”

To make his point, Derek pulled off his shirt as he walked away to try and give him some motivation. The loud squawk that came from behind him made him smirk. Maybe Stiles would get the call done quickly so they could spend some time together before Derek had to leave.

He didn’t totally know what would happen when he left for work, where Stiles would go, or if people could find out where he was- it was just a lot of stress. Derek wanted to enjoy the fact that he had him, and he never wanted to let go now that he did.

It was difficult to remember his routine, knowing Stilinski was in his living room. He could hear him on the phone from down the hall, which was good. But Derek still stood in his bedroom and stared around listlessly, trying to remember what he needed in order to shower. It seemed so stupid, but his whole world had been thrown upside down in under an hour; even his mundane habits were mind-bending.

He managed to find a towel and throw his pajamas into the hamper on the way to the bathroom, trying to focus on actually showering and not listening in on Stiles’ conversation. Once the shower was on and Stiles’ phone call was drowned out by the water, Derek felt more centered.

Derek forced himself into motion after a moment of losing himself beneath the water, moving through his cleansing routine steadily. First was shampoo, face wash, exfoliate, body wash, pumice stone, and finally deep conditioner- it was an extensive and familiar routine that was excessive for most men probably. For Derek, it was basic hygiene; someone in his line of work had to be in top form at all times.

But... did he even have a line of work anymore?

That vaguely stressful chain of thought was interrupted by a figure in the bathroom doorway, Derek tilting his head to squint through the foggy glass door.

The increasingly overwhelming thoughts that had been clouding him slipped away when he saw Stiles watching him from the doorway, a smile on his lips. Derek just found himself smiling back, leaning over to push the shower door open, inviting him in.

They’d be okay.