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Talk Dirty To Me About Tax Codes and Amortization Schedules

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The first time Stiles sees Derek in person, he nearly swallows his own tongue.

Of course he knows him. You don't talk to someone three times a week without feeling like you know them at least a little bit. But their company website is streamlined and plain -- professionally unadorned -- which means no employee pictures, so Stiles' mental image of Derek had been... well, basically a twin of the guy he'd taken over for. Middle aged in twenty year old suits with a slight pot belly and an affinity for numbers.

And sure, Stiles has been soaking up knowledge from him in the last eight months, coming on right at the end of tax season as he had. Derek had probably forgotten more about tax code than any of Stiles' professors had ever known.

So how can he be so young?

And gorgeous? Men like Derek do not go into personal accounting. They just don't. They become underwear models or actors. But they certainly don't sit in a tiny office behind a calculator writing up beautifully detailed spreadsheets that give Stiles number boners.

So yeah, Stiles manages the first ten minutes of that first face to face meeting tripping over his tongue and making an ass out of himself. It's painfully horrible, especially when he finally manages to form words and the first ones out are, "Dude, I am so in love with your short form review and recommendations to procedure."

He's gushing. He's never gushed in any of their hundreds of phone calls, so it's not at all unexpected when Derek gives him the flattest of flat looks, points to a chair and says, "Don't call me dude. Now sit down; there have been some changes to the tax code that are going to throw a million wrenches in our programs this year. I want the bugs worked out before we go live in January."

Stiles falls a little bit in love right there in the second floor office of a downtown historic business-district building in San Francisco. It's too bad he lives in LA.


The week drags out, tax code tangling up with computer code in his head until he feels like he's going to explode. When he presses his face to the cool surface of the table, his forehead lands in a sticky coffee ring and he grimaces.

"Need a break," Derek asks, and there's enough challenge in his voice that a 'no' is on the tip of Stiles' tongue.

But then he considers the question -- and the sticky place on his forehead -- and says, "Yeah. I'm gonna take ten. Splash some water on my face and maybe grab another cup of coffee. These lines of code will hopefully make more sense after I've replenished my caffeine levels."

Derek frowns, looking down at the pages of tax code revision spread out in front of him. Pursing his lips, he mutters, "Fine," but his tone says it's totally not.

"Look," Stiles says, apologetic. "We're almost done. None of this is going anywhere and we've still got two more days booked for this revision week stuff. If I take a quick break to clear my head, I'll be way more efficient and we might get to cut out early tomorrow. Maybe even take Friday off to see the sights or whatever."

Derek's eyes narrow threateningly. "Is that an invitation?"

"Uh. Sure?" It hadn't not been one, and Stiles wasn't about to insult Derek by telling him no.

Maybe he should have though because Derek suddenly goes still, his eyes raking Stiles from head to toe. His upper lip curls a little and he tilts his head, but doesn't say anything about it, just mutters, "Go splash your face."

If Stiles' exit seems a bit like he's fleeing, well. He kinda is.


He's got his tie undone and his shirt hanging loose, unbuttoned all the way so he doesn't end up dousing it with water when Derek walks into the bathroom a few minutes later. Stiles has a paper hand-towel bunched up in one fist, suds from the pink industrial hand soap slipping down the side of his face as he scrubs at the sticky spot on his forehead. When he notices Derek leaning against the wall by the electric hand dryer, he jumps, getting a bit of soap in his eye.

"Dammit," he hisses, rinsing his hands quickly so he can press his fingers to his eye. "Umm," he says, meeting Derek's eyes in the mirror with one of his own. "I, uh--"

"I wasn't a fan of hiring a dual major for your position. I thought it was going to be a jack-of-all-trades situation."

Master of none, Stiles mentally finishes, wincing.

"Your predecessor was a pure programmer and that had worked for years. He wrote the program we use."

Stiles nods, wiping up some spilled water from the counter, not sure what to say to that. He knows he's not the greatest programmer ever -- he'd only done the double major because programming had always been a hobby and those courses were good for clearing his mind when his tax and accounting classes filled it up too much. He thinks about apologizing, and he opens his mouth to do just that when Derek's next words freeze his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

"I was wrong." Derek steps up behind him, holding his gaze in the mirror, and reaches up, brushing a stray bit of soapy water from his hairline. If his finger grazes the tip of Stiles' ear and sends shivers through him, well… that's between Stiles and the counter he's suddenly leaning a little more firmly against.

"I'm sorry it's taking so long," Stiles breathes, unable to come up with anything else to say to that. Mostly because he doesn't really know what Derek means by it.

"Do you know how often someone calls to ask me a question that requires me to do research to find the answer?"

"Um?" Jesus, now Stiles is feeling like a piece of shit, because he calls Derek at least three times a week.

"Never before this year. I've never had to take a call that wasn't information a quick google search could have answered for any of these idiots. And then we hired you. You've never asked a stupid question. Some of your questions… god." Derek's voice goes a little husky, and it sends bolts of want through Stiles. "There's a new position here at headquarters. The same thing you've been doing, but a fairly significant increase in pay and you'd have a team. The programmers in the outlying offices would report to you."

"Me?" Stiles can feel how wide his eyes are, doesn't have to see the deer-in-the-headlights expression he knows he's sporting.

"You're brilliant. You cleaned all the bugs out of our accounting software in less than six months on the job and you know accounting. That amortization issue that was--"

"It was the equation. It didn't take--"

"No one else even knew to look at the equation. They were trying to track lines of code, and you found the issue in less than two hours. The job is yours. It would have been yours months ago, but it's a whole new position that's been created, and that takes time." Derek steps closer, so close that Stiles can feel the heat of him all along his back.

He hopes Derek doesn't look down. Doesn't see the way his nipples are tightening.

"I suggested it before I met you," Derek says, then tilts his head, his mouth curving up just the tiniest bit. "Well, before our first face-to-face. I need you to know that."

"Okay." Stiles can't really process what that means -- he'll have to consider the job offer later when all the blood in his body isn't split between spreading a splotchy blush across his cheeks and filling his dick so that it throbs in time with his heartbeat.

It's stupid, but hearing the word amortization roll of Derek's tongue had been hotter than the dirtiest dirty talk he'd ever heard. He'll be jerking it to that memory for a long time.

"The job is yours no matter how you--" Cutting himself off, Derek looks uncomfortable for the first time in Stiles' memory. "I want to ask you... Would you like to…"

"Yes." Stiles' whisper brings Derek's eyes back to his in their reflections. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he gives that tiny little smile again.

"You don't even know what I was going to ask."

His blush spreading, Stiles lowers his eyes to stare at the gleaming chrome of the faucet. "Right, sorry. I just…" He shrugs, trying to swallow down the hope that had bloomed inside him. "You're brilliant too. I mean, you know so much and I just feel stupid sometimes when you talk about tax code because you're on this whole other level and… yes. If there's anything you want or need from me, the answer is yes." He bites his lip, looking up again to see the way Derek's top teeth show through his parted lips. He watches as Derek swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing and drawing Stiles' gaze.

"What if," Derek says, pressing closer still, "what I want is personal?" He raises his hand, curves his arm around Stiles' waist to play with the loose end of his tie, his smallest finger grazing Stiles' bare stomach and making the muscles there twitch.

A small moan bursts from Stiles, and he can't even speak, throat too thick with longing to let mere words out. So instead, he just nods slowly and cants his hips backward, hoping Derek will understand that to be the fuck yes that he can't quite voice.

Derek falls on him, mouth opening over the sensitive skin just under his ear. His beard scrapes the area around it deliciously, brushes against his earlobe, and Stiles lets out a sound that comes far too close to a scream. He can feel Derek's mouth turning up before he hears the shushing noise he makes.

"You'll scare the janitors," he murmurs, his lips dragging over Stiles' skin as he does so.

Teasing? Oh, yeah, that gets to Stiles on a whole other level. Rocking back against the thick bulge he can feel pressing against his hip, Stiles listens to the sound of Derek's breath breaking and grins, triumphant. "Well, maybe," he says, doing it again, "you should find a way to shut me up."

What he means is stick your dick in my mouth. What he gets is something so much hotter.

Derek looks up, meets his gaze in the mirror again, his eyes hot and bright, greener than Stiles remembers them being. With a gentle tug, he pulls the tie he's still holding onto from around Stiles' neck and, raising his eyebrows, holds it up to Stiles' mouth, putting enough pressure against Stiles' lips that he gasps in surprise. As he does so, Derek pulls the tie tight, fitting it between Stiles' teeth and over his tongue.

"I didn't expect you," Derek says, licking his lips as he draped the ends of the tie over Stiles' shoulders, grasping one end in each hand, like reins. "I expected some pimply faced kid. Thick glasses and no chin and trying too hard. And then you walked into my office with your suits and ties, talking about recommendations to procedure and it was all I could do not to bend you over my desk right then and there."

Another moan rolls up Stiles' throat, barely muffled by the silk between his teeth. His eyes flutter at the very thought of being split open on Derek's cock and he nods, pleading with his whole body.

Derek's eyes darken, his pupils visibly expanding, and he drops the ends of the tie. "Hold that," he whispers, yanking at his own tie and quickly undoing the buttons of his shirt all the way down to his suit pants. He fumbles those open, shoving them to midthigh. Stiles' fingers fly to his own button and zipper, easing it over the place his dick is straining the material of his pants. When he's got them pushed down, he hears a thump and realizes his wallet has just fallen from his back pocket.

Derek bends, scooping it up, pausing momentarily on his way back up to shove Stiles' shirt high so he can sink his teeth into Stiles' bare ass. Stiles falls forward, bracing his hands against the counter, tremors rocking through him just from that. His wallet falls right next to his fingers, spilling open, and he remembers…

With a triumphant cry, he digs through the compartment where he keeps his emergency supplies, and slaps down two little packets of lube and a condom. Meeting Derek's eyes, he raises his eyebrow and watches as a hint of red colors Derek's cheeks above the clean line of his close-cropped beard.

They don't bother undressing any further than they have, and it's probably a good thing Stiles' mouth is still full because he'd probably make a stupid remark about discovering new kinks if it wasn't. But the picture they make, shirts hanging open, flashing skin but not too much, is really working for him.

It works for him even more when Derek's slick fingers slide between the cheeks of his ass, pressing firmly against him, opening him slow and steady and so very sure. Stiles just groans, shoving his ass back at Derek, muffling needy little whines and whimpers into the material in his mouth, eyes randomly falling closed as Derek brushes up against his prostate with teasing little touches.

And then there's the sound of foil crinkling, and Derek's fingers are sliding free before he moves in closer, his lube-slick fingers wrapping around Stiles' bare hips and pulling him backward, pulling his open, well-oiled ass right down onto Derek's dick, pushing slow and steady until Stiles wants to scream from the overwhelmingly intimate pressure.

It's slow going at first, delicious and burning and too much, but when Stiles starts rocking back, needing more, Derek responds beautifully. Meeting Stiles' pleading eyes in the mirror, he grabs the ends of Stiles' tie again.

"Is this okay?"

Stiles' gurgle and ass twitch appear to be answer enough because Derek doesn't wait another second before wrapping the silk around his fists, pulling Stiles' head up, baring his throat. He snaps his hips forward, dick splitting Stiles wide open, rubbing up against him in all the right ways.

Elbows locked, palms slipping against the counter, Stiles bucks his hips, meeting Derek thrust for thrust. Derek is almost distressingly quiet, underscoring the sounds the tie in Stiles' mouth can't possibly hope to contain. His breathing, though, is ragged, stirring the hair at the back of Stiles' neck, washing over the skin there and adding a whole new layer to the pleasure rocketing through Stiles.

Finally Stiles can't take anymore. Needs a hand on his dick, and since Derek's are both all wrapped up, he uses his own. He watches through the mirror as Derek's eyes fall to where his fingers are wrapped around himself, watches the way his mouth falls open at the sight. He tries to draw it out, make it as much a tease for Derek as it is for himself, but he can't. He needs to come, and he needs to do it now.

The darkly flushed tip of his dick is nearly a blur as his fingers fly over it, and when the first pulse of his orgasm rips from him, the come arcs so high and hard it splatters over the mirror. Ass clenching, Stiles' mouth drops open wide, completely silent as his orgasm blasts through him.

For the first time since things progressed from mutual exclamations of admiration to desperate touches, Derek's voice breaks with sound. It's a little thing, but so filled with need that it hits Stiles like a punch to the gut. Shoving forward one last time, Derek's dick begins pulsing in Stiles' ass, twitching as he orgasms deep inside Stiles. A little flood of grief fills Stiles for the come that's going into the condom and not his ass, but he figures if this goes any further, he can approach that soon enough.

After Derek recovers enough to untangle his hands from Stiles' tie and gently remove it from his mouth, he slips free of Stiles' ass and takes care of the condom. Turning Stiles around, he pulls him close, lipping at the reddened skin at the corners of his lips before melting Stiles' mind with a kiss that's fucking perfect for all that they're both still breathing too hard. But the scrape of Derek's beard over the raw skin of his mouth is both delicious and just at the edge of painful.

Pulling back, Derek licks his lower lip once before rolling their foreheads together. "You said we were close before," he murmurs.

It takes Stiles a moment to figure out what he's talking about, and then he snaps back into focus. "Uh, yeah. Just a few more coding changes. Shouldn't take more than an hour or so."

"Mmm, good. I had our schedules cleared the whole week for this, so after, we're taking off the rest of the week and spending it at my house." He pulls back, a tiny flinch of uncertainty tightening his features. "If you want, I mean."

Stiles grins, wrapping his hands around Derek and getting a handful of the ass he's been trying not to admire too obviously all week. "I'm pretty sure I told you I wanted to see the sights. Your bed? Totally a sight I want to see. But it's only worth seeing if you're in it."