It had been quite the surprise for Stiles to realise he had a regular. A pretty young, hot regular, on top of that. People like Danny have regulars, not Stiles. It’s been going on for a few months now, and started out with a not-so-innocent lap dance in one of the private rooms. Stiles is pretty sure the rowdy group of friends bought his regular that first lap dance.
After that, he started coming back semi-regularly. He’s one of those men who wears tailored suits with expensive cufflinks and tips in hundred dollar bills. And Stiles is a stripper in tiny, sparkly briefs, who apparently appeals to him. He knew all those squats would be good for something.
He’s in the dressing room, making sure that his briefs won’t ride up too much, when Danny knocks on the door. There are a number of bills sticking out of the waistband of his thong — seriously, Stiles is never going to wear a thong —and he’s sweaty.
“Your favourite is here,” Danny says, smirking. “I tried to steal him away by giving him some extra attention, but he just looked uncomfortable.”
Stiles snorts, though he’s secretly pleased by his regular rejecting Danny. “He always looks a bit uncomfortable. I bet he’s married with a kid and has a permanent guilty conscience when he’s here.”
“I bet he doesn’t ask you to get off his lap, though.” Danny laughs, so he’s probably not too offended. Stiles doesn’t know what to say. It’s odd, because people like his regular, people who reek of money, tend to break the rules. They tend to touch, even though it’s not allowed. They tend to expect something extra, something that Stiles certainly isn’t willing to give. But his regular isn’t like that. He never touches. He never asks for more than he’s allowed, and he tips and says thank you when the time is up.
Shrugging, Stiles gives Danny a quick smile. “Well, at least I’ll have Starbucks money for another two weeks, then.”
“What do you do? Is there a happy ending involved? Why is he so attached to you?”
“Dude, no way.” Stiles pulls a face. “Starbucks isn’t as important as my soul.”
Danny rolls his eyes and leaves, probably heading for the showers. He’s probably got a bunch of private dances lined up after this. He’s the one making the most money in this place, after all.
It’s the first weekend in January and it’s girl groups night tonight, and right before Stiles gets on stage, the beat to the Pussycat Doll’s Buttons starts playing. Going on stage is familiar, even though he still gets that moment of fear just before he walks on. After that, it’s just well-rehearsed moves and getting rid of clothes. He’s never naked on stage, thank god, but it isn’t like these poor excuses for briefs hide anything, really.
The place is packed tonight, but he has no trouble spotting his regular. He’s at the bar, as far away from the stage as you can get, while still maintaining a decent view. It’s his usual spot. He’s staring at Stiles, and the drink in his hand seems forgotten. Stiles smirks at him, knowing that they probably have a private session booked after this. His mouth dries, as he realises that his regular is wearing the navy suit he wore the first time Stiles was asked to give him a private dance. He almost popped a boner that time, just from being so nervous.
He tears his gaze away, losing himself in his moves, and arches his back when a man reaches up to stuff a couple of bills down his briefs. He ignores the lingering touch, moving away like it’s a part of the show. Someone in the audience shouts, and the thrill of attention runs down his spine. He always feels invincible like this, in front of a crazy crowd. If his dad saw him, he’d have a heart attack.
He grinds on the floor one last time, before the music starts to die out and he’s got his cue to leave. While he instantly misses the attention after walking off stage, he doesn’t miss the handsy people in the crowd.
He’s sweaty, with hair clinging to his forehead, when he gets back to the dressing room. He tugs the bills from his waistband and stuffs them in his jeans after a quick count, wondering how much more there is lying on stage, which Greenberg will bring to him in a bit. He did well tonight. These few moments, where he’s sweaty and out of breath, are the ones he likes the most. There’s a brief respite before he’s able to get his heart rate back to normal, and around that time he starts thinking about how behind he is on his schoolwork.
There’s a knock on the door just as he’s about to grab a towel and head for the showers.
Erica sticks her head in.“Your favourite wants you.”
“Can you tell him that I just need a moment to shower, and I’ll be right there.” It’s odd, because his regular usually waits until Stiles has showered, dressed and is convinced that there won’t be a private session tonight before requesting him.
“He wants you now, I think.” Erica shrugs, like this is completely normal. Maybe it is, with anyone but his regular.
Stiles gestures vaguely to himself. “But I’m sweaty.”
Erica sighs and rolls her eyes. “I’ll go ask.”
She’s back almost instantly, and Stiles has just managed to grab the towel from the hanger.
“He doesn’t mind the sweat.” She smirks, then. “Between me and you, I think it would be a plus.”
Frowning, Stiles drops his towel on a chair. He’s going to be sweating all over that suit. Ugh, that suit though.
“Alright,” he assents. “I’ll be right there. Does he want me to wear these sweaty briefs, too?”
“Probably.” Erica snorts. “I’ll let him know. Room three is all yours. He paid for a double.”
That is also unusual for Stiles’ regular, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he wipes off the worst of his sweat and pushes the hair from his face. His heart rate picks up a fraction as he enters the room. His regular looks weary and tired in the odd, soft light. Stiles falters a little. He usually does his thing and leaves, but the man in front of him isn’t the man he’s used to. Sure, he looks immaculate as always. Sexy, even. But he also looks like he hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in months, and his gaze is less intense than usual. The air of power that always surrounds him is long gone.
“Sorry.” Stiles feels obligated to apologise for being sweaty and still wearing the same outfit as he wore on stage, even though his regular had insisted on it.
He gets a shrug in reply. “I had a rough day at work. I just need a distraction.”
From experience, Stiles knows he’s really good at being a distraction. Considering how much this guy usually tips, he’s going to do his best to make it a good one, too.
“So, I’ve never asked your name, have I?” As his playlist starts, he steps closer, knowing that Erica has gone back to the bar. Stiles never breaks the rules. He’s never been tempted to. Until now.
Humming, Stiles straddles Derek’s lap, without letting their bodies touch. He goes slow, because it looks like Derek needs it right now. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Derek’s hands twitch on the armrests, and for the first time, Stiles wishes there wasn’t a no touching rule.
He never really looks at the people he dances for, but today he can’t stop watching as Derek’s eyes roam over his body, and how he always comes back to Stiles’ face, meeting his gaze.
There’s a second of hesitation where Stiles takes in the width of Derek’s shoulders, the dark shade of his stubble and the sharp lines of his cheekbones. He knows that Danny lets customers touch him on occasion, when he wants to give them a little something extra. As long as it doesn’t get out of hand, it should be okay. So, when he slides his knees up to rest against the seat, cradling Derek’s hips, he grabs Derek’s hand and presses it to his thigh. For a moment, Derek’s eyes grow wide, and Stiles gets goosebumps from feeling the way Derek’s fingers twitch against his skin. Then, Derek tries to pull his hand back, making Stiles want it on him even more.
“It’s not allowed,” Derek says, his cheeks flushed, and he grabs the armrest, knuckles going white.
“Well, you look like you need a little extra something tonight, Derek.” Stiles smiles, and when he grabs Derek’s hand to put it on his thigh again, Derek lets him. His pulse picks up as he watches Derek let out a rush of air through his nose, and his hand feels a bit rough to the touch.
Stiles quickly gives up on not touching Derek’s body as he moves again. Maybe it’s more like giving in.
“Is it okay if I touch you, too?”
Derek nods, snapping his gaze away from Stiles’ hips. He looks a little dazed, but the worn expression is slowly fading and Stiles’ heart is thumping to the beat of the music. Derek’s hand flexes on his hip when Stiles accidentally moves too low and grinds against him. Yeah, Derek’s definitely getting hard.
Swallowing, Stiles slides a hand down Derek’s shirt, counting the buttons with the pad of his finger, and then up again with the flat of his palm. Derek’s firm under his touch, and his chest defined. A rush of pride runs through him, as Derek makes a small, aborted thrust beneath him, when Stiles grazes his nipples through the shirt.
“I really like this suit,” he breathes, groaning as Derek’s hand creeps up his thigh, sliding around to squeeze his ass. Stiles grinds down on him, sending an absent prayer that Erica isn’t in the control room right now.
“I really like these,” Derek counters, and slides a couple of fingers under the fabric of Stiles’ briefs, just at his hip.
Derek just nods, eyes falling closed as Stiles gives up on the teasing and concentrates on getting them both off. Removing clothes is out of the question, but he was in high school once. He just doesn’t remember dry humping ever being this hot.
“You need to stop,” Derek groans a moment later.
“Why?” Stiles slows down, but doesn’t stop entirely. He can feel Derek’s ragged breath on his face, can feel his heartbeat through his shirt. And he can definitely feel how hard Derek is through the fabric of his pants.
“Because I’m going to come if you don’t.”
Swallowing, Stiles pauses for a second. He’s never done this. He’s never voluntarily made a customer come during a session. It happens, sure, but that has always made him super uncomfortable. Until now. Because right now he wants nothing more than to see Derek come.
“Actually,” he breathes, and grinds down again. “That sounds tempting, if you’ll let me.”
He waits then, feeling as though his heart has stopped beating, until Derek’s eyes meet his, and then he nods. Stiles gives up on finesse after that, but so does Derek. His hands are everywhere, firm and sure, and he grinds up to meet Stiles with every move.
Things get hazy after that. They’re just chasing the inevitable. Just as the familiar, yet always-new wave of release rolls over him, Stiles kisses Derek before he knows what he’s doing. Derek responds with the most glorious, raw sound, as he comes.
Stiles allows himself to catch his breath, resting his forehead against Derek’s. For a moment, it’s not awkward at all, until he climbs off and when their eyes meet again, it’s like they both realise what they just did.
“Um,” Stiles says, suddenly wishing that his briefs were less revealing as he feels the need to explain. “This is not something I usually do.”
“Me neither,” Derek agrees hurriedly. He makes a show of tipping as much as he always does, like he wants to make sure that Stiles knows that he doesn’t pay extra for the orgasm.
Stiles watches him go. On one hand, he considers running after Derek to offer him a refund, but he’s also grateful that he doesn’t need to go and find Erica to ask for Derek’s money back while looking like this.
Apparently there’s someone up there liking him, because he doesn’t bump into either Erica or Danny on his way back to the dressing room. After showering and ridding himself off the last evidence of his rule breaking, he feels almost normal.
Derek is already gone when Stiles heads to the bar for his usual shift after performing. That’s normal for him. Stiles can’t remember a single time Derek’s been staying after his private sessions to have a drink, or small talk with anyone.
Things go back to normal after that. He gets a twinge of guilt every time he’s at work and gets asked for a private show. Especially when he has to tell people off for breaking the rules. He feels like a hypocrite every time he gets a handsy customer thrown out of the club.
At first he thinks that he’s just managed to miss Derek, because of working fewer shifts during an especially rough few weeks in one of his college courses. It’s not until the beginning of February before he realises that Derek isn’t coming around anymore.
Frowning to himself, Stiles concentrates on refilling a beer, and hums like he’s listening to the chatty customer in front of him. He remembers Derek being just as into it as he had been.
“You look troubled,” Danny comments, as he taps Stiles on the shoulder. It’s his turn to take over the bar, and Stiles needs to go home and study for his quiz tomorrow.
“Is it that obvious?” Stiles asks, as he hands over the beer.
“Yes, you’re always the one talking their ears off.” Danny gestures towards the customers on the other side of the bar.
“Just a lot on my mind with school, and stuff.” Stiles tries to shrug it off, but he knows that Danny is way too smart to be fooled by that.
“And stuff,” Danny echoes knowingly.
Stiles gives in. “Has my regular been around, lately?”
“I haven’t seen him.” Danny shakes his head. “And he’s hard not to notice.”
Stiles grimaces. “Ain’t that the truth.”
Even though he’s been suspecting this himself, his heart sinks in disappointment. Derek hasn’t been around since Stiles decided to give him a lap dance. He must have messed up.
“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Danny says, and starts grabbing the empty glasses off the counter. “It happens to the best of us.”
Stiles doesn’t even ask how he knows. Instead, he wipes his hands on a towel and waves at Erica on the other side of the room. “Alright, I’m out. See you next week.”
Danny waves at him over his shoulder.
Stiles buries himself in school, work and spending time with friends. Scott seems to know that something is off, but he doesn’t ask. He’s always been great at knowing when not to ask about things.
A week later, Stiles has decided that he doesn’t care about Derek, and of course that’s when he sees him.
He’s in the grocery store on the other side of town, picking up a few things before his movie night with Lydia and Allison, when he spots someone familiar in the cereal aisle.
“No, you can’t have the ones with sugar for breakfast.”
Stiles stops, hating himself for eavesdropping. If Derek looks up and in his direction, he’ll notice Stiles without difficulty, but he’s crouching down in front of a kid with the same dark hair. She’s got a messy braid, and a furious hold on a box of Cap’n Crunch.
“But I want these,” she pouts.
“It’s basically candy. You can’t have candy for breakfast,” Derek sighs, exasperated.
Stiles gets the feeling that he already knows that he won’t win this discussion. A second later, a woman dressed smartly in a knee-length dress and a tailored coat joins them. Stiles grabs the nearest cereal box to not seem too suspicious. He glances at her, and she is crazy beautiful. Her hair is lighter than the little girl’s, but it only takes a second to see that this is the girl’s mom. They have the same eyes, and the same curve of their mouth.
“Katie, you know the rules,” she says sternly.
Katie, apparently, sighs in defeat and puts the Cap’n Crunch back on the shelf. Clearly, she knows when she’s facing her superior.
Stiles swallows, as realisation dawns on him. This is Derek, with his daughter and his wife. Didn’t Stiles say this exact thing to Danny the same night he decided to give Derek something extra? That he was a married guy with a kid, and a permanent guilty conscience for coming to the club? Maybe he needed the orgasm and a kiss to realise what the hell he was doing.
With a foul taste in his mouth, Stiles puts the box of cereal in his basket and is just about to leave when Derek turns around. Apparently, fate has to be that freaking cruel.
He stares at Stiles for a moment, like he’s having trouble placing him. Stiles wants to scoff and ask if Derek thinks he’d recognise him if he takes his clothes off. Maybe he would have, if Katie hadn’t been right there.
Instead, Stiles looks at the woman and Katie, who are now browsing the shelves for a more nutritious kind of cereal, before he meets Derek’s gaze again. He nods, hoping that Derek knows exactly what he’s thinking, even though Stiles barely does so himself, before he leaves.
“Why did you buy cereal?” Allison asks him when she helps him unpack the grocery bags a short while later.
“Apparently you can’t eat Cap’n Crunch for breakfast,” Stiles replies, eyeing the box of nutritious cereal containing eight grams of fiber with suspicion. He pretends not to see Allison’s questioning look.
At Britney Spears night the next weekend, with Oops... I Did It Again! thumping through his veins, Stiles almost forgets his moves when he spots a familiar face in the crowd.
Derek is sitting at the bar, in his usual place. He doesn’t have a drink, though, and instead of acknowledging him, Stiles just concentrates on his moves and the crowd closest to the stage. His mind is somewhere else, though. What is Derek doing here? It’s been over a month. It definitely has something to do with them bumping into each other in the grocery store earlier this week.
Stiles thinks that he’s safe when he sinks down on the chair in the dressing room. He’s wrong, of course. Erica opens the door a second later, and Stiles knows even before she opens her mouth to talk.
“Your regular wants you.”
She opens her mouth again, but then stops with a frown. “What?”
“No, I’m not giving him a private session.”
She closes the door behind her slowly. “Did he do something last time?”
Snorting, Stiles tugs the dollar bills from his waistband. “No. No, I did something, and then I found out that he has a wife and a kid.”
She looks at him for a long moment, and Stiles wait for the questions, for getting reprimanded for breaking the rules, but instead she nods. “Okay, I’ll recommend Danny.”
Breathing through his nose, Stiles stares at the ceiling for a long while. Does Derek really think he can just come back, after meeting Stiles in the grocery store with his kid and his wife, thinking that he can get another private session with a little extra treatment? It’s way different suspecting that Derek has a wife and a kid — because how the hell is a guy that hot not married?— and knowing that he has.
He’s grateful that Erica doesn’t ask him to do any other private sessions, so instead he showers and gets dressed before heading to the bar.
Just as he’s about to tell Greenberg that he’s free to leave, he notices that Derek is sitting right in front of him. He’s wearing a suit, per usual, but the fact that he’s stayed is not usual at all.
“Can I talk to you?” he asks.
“Sorry, I’m working.”
“It will only take a few minutes.”
“People are waiting to order drinks. I can’t really leave.” Stiles gestures to the other people in the bar. They all have full glasses. Derek seems to realise this too, because he frowns.
“It won’t take long. I just want to explain a couple of things.”
“Is this guy bothering you?” Erica asks, coming up beside Stiles out of nowhere. “I’ll tell the bouncer to kick him out if you want.”
Derek gets up from the chair, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to talk to Stiles. I realise he doesn’t want to, so I’ll leave.”
Watching him leave, Stiles gets this odd feeling of déjà vu. Clearly, Derek is really adamant on talking to him. He glances at Erica, who rolls her eyes.
“Fine,” she says. “But hurry, he’s never coming back again if you don’t catch him now.”
Stiles rounds the bar, and rushes through the crowd and out the door. He manages to catch up to Derek in the parking lot just around the corner.
“Wait!” Stiles calls, and Derek looks up in confusion. Stiles stops awkwardly a couple of feet away from him, watching as Derek puts the keys back into his pocket. “You wanted to tell me something.”
“I did.” Derek scratches his cheek, and Stiles is distracted for a moment by the fact that he’s not wearing a ring. Annoyance flares behind his ribs again, before he can stop it.
“Did you really skip the ring, even though I already know? Seriously? It’s not like we haven’t had your kind in there before.”
“My kind?” Derek echoes.
“The married kind.”
The tiny smile Derek gives him is really confusing. “See, that’s why I think we need to talk.”
“Worried that I’ll tell your wife?”
“I don’t have a wife,” Derek says calmly, and just as Stiles is about to open his mouth and ask about Katie, Derek continues. “And I don’t have a kid, either. That was my sister and my niece. If you don’t believe me, I can show you on Facebook.”
Stiles mind is blank. “But you stopped coming around,” he points out.
Derek looks around, and yes, Stiles realises that they’re in a parking lot in the middle of the night. It’s also in the middle of February. Stiles shivers in his t-shirt.
“Can I take you to a diner close by, where we can talk?”
“I have all my stuff at the club,” Stiles hears himself say, as though he’d be perfectly fine with going to a diner otherwise.
“Go get them. I’ll pick you up outside.”
Stiles blinks. Derek doesn’t have a wife, or a kid. There’s a different reason to why he stopped coming by, and Stiles has always been too curious for his own good. He’s not going to pass on a chance to actually talk to Derek, either.
With one last glance at Derek, who’s walking towards his car again, Stiles heads back to the club.
“I’m...” he begins when he finds Erica. “I need to get out early tonight.”
“Figured as much. I’m expecting you to make up for that next weekend.”
Stiles will probably not think that this is such a great idea next weekend, but he doesn’t care right now. Instead he hurries to the changing rooms, grabs his bag, and makes sure he’s got enough charge on his phone left.
As promised, Derek is waiting for him outside in a sleek, black car. Stiles hesitates only for a moment before he gets in.
“Where are we going?” he asks.
Derek shrugs. “It’s up to you.”
For a moment, Stiles wants to tell Derek that he can decide, but then he realises that suggesting a diner close to his own place would be a good idea. That way he wouldn’t have to catch a cab to get home afterwards.
“I know a nice diner,” he says.
He only gets a milkshake, because he isn’t sure for how long they’ll be here. Derek gets a coffee.
“So, you wanted to talk to me,” Stiles prompts, when Derek is still quiet. He’s still not sure if this is a great idea.
“Yes.” Derek looks up from his cup, and eyes him for a moment. “As I said, I’m not married and I don’t have a kid. I’m not in any kind of relationship.”
Stiles stirs his milkshake with the straw. “Okay.”
“I realised in the grocery store, what it must have looked like for you, and I felt like I had to explain.” Derek clears his throat. “After what happened.”
Stiles resists rolling his eyes. “I see.”
When he looks up, Derek’s eyes are still locked on him.
“So what’s up with not coming around after that?”
“I started doubting that it was consensual.” Derek looks away for a moment. “From your side, I mean. I started asking myself if you really had offered, or if I had just taken liberties. It didn’t make sense to me. That you would offer.”
“It didn’t make sense?” Stiles wonders if Derek has an identical twin who’s the one Stiles has been giving private dances to before. If Derek never noticed the tension between them all the other times, before anything actually happened. If Stiles’ attraction to him wasn’t so completely obvious.
“I didn’t think you knew who I was.”
Stiles snorts. “How many regulars do you think I have, dude?”
A beat of silence. “Not that many, I take it?”
“You didn’t force me into this,” Stiles says, feeling as though he needs to explain. “Admittedly, I was worried about being the one forcing you into something you didn’t really want.”
Now, it’s Derek’s turn to snort.
“I’ve remembered you since the very first time,” Stiles says. “I don’t know what you were doing at the club, but I remember that being the only time you actually had other people with you.”
“It was a high school reunion.”
“At a strip club?”
“It was past midnight. The rest had already gone home.”
“But you kept coming back.”
Derek looks at him for a long moment, making Stiles shiver.
“Because I was attracted to you, and I wanted to ask you out, but you never spoke to me until that last time.”
“You didn’t look like you wanted to talk.” Stiles hesitates before speaking again. “You could’ve just stayed after and talked to me while I was working in the bar.”
“It all seems very logical and easy now.”
Taking a breath, Stiles takes in Derek’s immaculate suit and his watch. His dark stubble, and the way his hair is pushed back and a little to the side.
“Forgive me for being sceptical, but I don’t get how someone like you can have trouble asking anyone out. I also don’t get how someone like you would want to ask out a college student who works in a strip club.”
To his surprise, Derek flushes slightly. “I’m not good with people. I’m really good at a lot of things. I’m great at my job, I’m great with a scalpel, and patching up someone’s insides and saving lives, but I’m not great with people.”
Is Derek a doctor? “Meaning?” Stiles pushes.
“Meaning I’m not great at approaching people I’m interested in. Meaning it takes time for me to get interested in someone. Meaning that there is a reason I’m a surgeon, doing my work when the person is already asleep.”
“You’re a dick?” Stiles tries, confused, because he doesn’t know where Derek is going.
Derek holds his hands out. “This is it. I’m not great at this. I don’t...” Derek trails off, and shakes his head. “This isn’t going where I wanted it to. I wanted to make sure that you knew that I’m not married, and that I don’t have a kid. And I wanted to make sure that what happened wasn’t something you didn’t want.”
Stiles looks at him for a long time. Derek seems frustrated with himself.
“Thanks,” he says quietly. “And I did want it.”
The blatant look of relief on Derek’s face makes his chest swell. “Good. I’m glad. Do you want me to drive you home?”
Stiles looks down at his barely-touched milkshake. “I’m good. I live close by.” Biting his lip, he hopes that Derek isn’t about to leave yet. “I’m going to finish this, I think.”
Derek nods and looks like he’s about to get up from his chair, so Stiles reaches over the table and bumps his fingers against Derek’s.
“Meaning I want you to stay and talk for a bit, if you feel up for it.” When Derek looks at him like he’s a puzzle, Stiles smiles to himself.
“I’d like that.”
As it turns out, Derek isn’t nearly as terrible at conversing as he thinks, once he relaxes. He’s just surprisingly shy for someone who goes to strip clubs and pays for private sessions.
Stiles has finished his milkshake and two cups of coffee before he remembers that his body is dependent on sleep.
“I think I need to go home and crash.”
Derek glances at his watch. “Okay. Do you really live close by, or did you just not want me to drive you home?”
Smiling, Stiles shakes his head. “I live around the block, but you can drive me home if you want to.”
Derek nods as he gets to his feet. “Sure. Just give me directions.”
“Can I see you again?” Stiles asks, before he steps out of the car a short moment later.
“Do you want to?” Derek sounds surprised.
Stiles leans over and kisses him, then. For a moment, Derek’s mouth is lax in shock, but then his hand curls around Stiles’ neck and he starts kissing back.
Stiles pulls back, licking his lips. “Yes, I want to.”
Derek looks dazed as he nods. “Okay.”
Several months later, Stiles is sitting on Derek’s kitchen counter, balancing bottle caps into tiny towers.
“So, what do I tell them about how we met, if they ask?”
He’s so not ready to meet Derek’s family, but the way Derek had looked so hopeful when he had asked had made Stiles weak. Apparently Derek comes from one of those disgustingly successful families. His mom is editor-in-chief for a fashion magazine, and his sisters are both running their own companies.
Derek looks up from where he’s chopping tomatoes. He scratches his stubble the way he always does when he tries to find the right words. Right behind him is Stiles’ box of Cap’n Crunch. He gave up on the nutritious ones ages ago.
“My family doesn’t know that I’ve gone to a strip club,” he begins, and it’s not like Stiles didn’t know this conversation would come up. He’s proud of Stiles for a lot of things, but the fact that Stiles was making extra cash stripping when they met probably isn’t one of them.
Derek clears his throat, and Stiles zones back to reality.
“So if they look surprised when you tell them, that’s why.”
Stiles blinks. When the words sink in, and he realises that Derek is actually saying that he’s not opposed to Stiles telling his family, his throat feels a little tight.
“I’m not going to tell them that you used to be my regular at a strip club,” he mumbles.
Derek frowns at that. “Why not? It’s the truth. I don’t mind.”
When Stiles reaches for him, Derek steps close, and Stiles kisses him hard.
“You’re really weird,” he whispers against Derek’s lips, and kisses him again just as Derek opens his mouth to protest. “And I love you for that.”