Work Text:
Stiles has it all: the looks, the youth, the money, the power, and, of course, the brains. The only thing he doesn’t have is a nice personality. He’s actually ‘kind of a dick’ according to many tabloids that plague the bay area. So it’s no wonder that someone’s out to kill him.
The whole situation starts as cliche as anything: with threatening letters. They came to Stiles’ home address for months with the sender seeming more and more unhinged every time. Yesterday was the last straw when a bomb was sent to him. Luckily, Stiles’ business dinner ran late and it blew up at exactly when Stiles would have usually been checking his mail.
The more Stiles recalls the incident over the third cup of his morning coffee, the more he realizes that it’s high time to do something about it. However, he’s far too busy to deal with something as fickle and mind-numbing as searching for a bodyguard company to protect him. As any great businessman says: have others do your work for you. That’s basically the whole job description of his main assistant, Scott, who was also his childhood friend.
It doesn’t take Scott long to do the task because he’s gently tapping at Stiles’ office door the next time Stiles has a break between meetings. Once he’s allowed to enter he does, walking past the potted plants, the bookshelves, two over-the-top plush chairs, and stands in front of the desk, handing Stiles a printer-hot piece of paper.
Like everything else in Stiles’ life, the young CEO of Sparks Engineering has to have the best of the best and, according to the title of the document, that’s Alpha Security. After scanning the rest of the document which includes basic information and pricing of their services, he nods as he hands the report back to Scott. “Call them, explain the situation, and arrange a meeting for this afternoon—invite Lydia and yourself too while you’re at it.”
“Got it,” Scott says and scurries out of the large room as fast as his legs can take him, softly closing the door behind him.
*
That afternoon, as planned, Stiles is sitting in the conference room adjacent to his office with Scott, Lydia, his CFO, as well as two unknown, handsome men that are obviously related. The older one introduces himself as Peter, the owner of the company, and the younger one introduces himself as Derek, one of the team leads.
Not wanting to waste time with dumb pleasantries, Stiles starts explaining everything in detail: the letters, their contents, the mysterious bomb, and the recent police monitoring of his mail, both to his business and to his residence.
“Is that all of the information you have?”
“That’s all I personally know. There’s also an open police investigation but they haven’t shared anything with me…” He flips a palm up as he gives a half-shrug. “Probably because they don’t have any leads, to my great surprise,” Stiles adds sarcastically.
Peter’s right eyebrow twitches and Derek’s frown deepens, much to Stiles’ enjoyment. Derek opens his frowning mouth but Peter beats him to it by saying, “Surely there are some leads; it’s not like a ghost is attempting to injure you, Mr. Stilinski.”
“Surely,” Stiles remarks dryly—a tad bit upset there’s not a bigger reaction to his digging.
From one side of him, Lydia sighs and checks the time, obviously over this. “Shall we sign the contract and get our CEO the protection he needs?”
“I assume that you want the full-package service, correct? Are you aware of the price?” When the three Sparks Engineering employees nod, Peter opens his sleek, black briefcase on the table and slides over multiple copies of a contract across it.
An hour later, the contract’s finalized, and Stiles is left in the room with only Derek, who has yet to actually say anything. Thankfully, the team lead opens his mouth to explain the schedule, the monitoring, as well as the plan for the rest of the day, which includes Derek staying with him in the office until Stiles is done for the day. Then, using Stiles’ newly assigned driver, they’ll meet the rest of Derek’s team at Stiles’ apartment.
*
By the time the two men are taking the elevator down to the parking garage, Stiles decides that he quite likes Derek. The bodyguard is very much the strong and silent type. He talks more with his eyebrows than he does with his vocal cords. Plus, when he does talk, it’s usually straight to the point. The only thing Stiles can’t decide is if he enjoys not being distracted from his work while Derek’s around or if he wants to see how much he can push the man until he breaks.
“Mr. Stilinski, this is Isaac, your driver for the rest of your time with us,” Derek says, stopping next to another man only a few feet from the elevator.
Isaac nods stiffly, not bothering to outstretch his hand for a handshake. “Pleasure to meet you,” he says, his tone suggesting that it isn’t a pleasure at all.
Oh, so there’s the one that probably breaks easy, Stiles thinks automatically. He can’t help wanting to pull on the imaginary pigtails on either side of his fluffy curls. “Pleasure’s all mine,” he says with a smirk he knows is too sharp to seem friendly.
Greetings out of the way, Stiles notices that next to Isaac is a sleek black car that appears to be normal besides the dark window tint, which is definitely right on the line of being against the law. At least it’s less flashy than Stiles’ baby powder blue sports car or his normal chauffeur’s white limousine.
The start of the drive to Stiles’ home is rather quiet with Derek and, obviously, Isaac in the front seats while the person they’re protecting sits in the back. Due to all of the rush hour traffic, Stiles is used to the commute taking upwards of thirty minutes. He spends about half of the ride on his work phone before he gets bored. Putting the phone in his lap, Stiles looks between the two silent men in front of him. Perhaps it’s time for him to partake in one of his favorite hobbies: pushing some buttons.
“You know, Isaac,” Stiles drawls out naturally as if he’s commenting on the weather. “Makes sense you’re just a driver. You somehow look frailer than I do.” Stiles flicks his eyes down from the rearview mirror and watches Isaac white-knuckle the steering wheel with glee.
“He’s the best of the best when it comes to escaping with a car,” Derek cuts in, not allowing his employee to respond to the remark. “His internal GPS is unparalleled as well. Trust me, you should be happy he’s under your hire.”
Isaac takes a deep breath and his grip lessens.
Huffing and looking out the window, Stiles says, “Well, I sure do hope so. I’m paying top dollar, after all.”
There’s no response as they continue down the route but, finally, they make it to the VIP parking garage of his complex, parking next to Stiles’ luxury car. He almost wants to ask how they knew all of this but he figures they just did their research. Which is good and makes Stiles feel safe; he’ll have to personally praise Scott for picking a good company.
Of course, he doesn’t say anything like this out loud as the two men follow him to his personal elevator—with his own six-digit code—and then up to the penthouse. When the CEO gets off at the top, he almost runs right into three people he doesn’t recognize. Luckily, they were in the same uniform as Isaac and Derek so Stiles’ shock dies quickly.
“Mr. Stilinski,” Derek says as he stops next to Stiles. “Please meet Erica, Boyd, and Jackson.”
Nodding once in greeting, Stiles realizes that something is missing. “I thought you said that you had six crew members, including you?”
Derek stares him down for a second. It's like he is surprised that Stiles would notice something like that. “Danny’s our remote surveillance guy.”
“Surveillance?”
“Yep,” the woman, Erica, cuts in. “Cameras in every room of the apartment, besides the master bathroom and the half-bath of course.”
“The bag,” Stiles points to the large, military-looking backpack Derek’s carrying, “holds all of that then?”
“No sir,” someone—Jackson, according to the white name tag—says. “We just finished installing them ourselves.”
Stiles opens his mouth to ask how and why they let themselves into his home. The reason dawns on him before he gets the words out: Lydia, the only person that has a key to his front door other than himself. “I occasionally have remote calls here with my international branches so I’d prefer if you guys would take out the mics.”
“No mics involved. Don’t worry, all of your industry secrets will be safe, Mr. Stilinski,” Isaac says from the corner of Stiles’ vision, leaning against the wall and twirling his keys.
“Well, your team certainly knows its stuff, Derek,” Stiles says, paying the man a rare compliment.
“Of course. You’re paying top dollar, after all,” Derek says, repeating the words Stiles used in the car. He flashes a charismatic smile and turns to his employees. “That’s all for today, team. As you guys know, everyone but Isaac and Danny are on quarter-day shifts: Six A.M. to noon, noon to six P.M., six to midnight, and then midnight to six A.M.. Rinse and repeat. I have the shift tonight until midnight.”
The group nods and then they leave down the hallway, away from Stiles’ front door, to the building’s main elevator.
“Well, looks like it’s you and me, big guy,” Stiles jokes as he unlocks his door and steps into the entryway.
Derek grunts. And that’s the last thing that comes out of his mouth all night.
*
They develop a routine, going something a little bit like this: Erica has the first shift, the morning shift, stepping into the apartment by the time Stiles has his first cup of coffee; Jackson has the afternoon shift, usually starting right as Isaac drives Stiles to a business lunch meeting; Derek has the evening shift, showing up to switch out the minute Stiles gets home via Isaac; Boyd has the night shift, at least, that’s who’s there in the rare nights Stiles hasn’t gone to bed yet.
Although the bodyguards are easy for Stiles to ignore and continue like normal, the routine leads to him learning more about them. Boyd and Derek are quiet, stoic, and hard to annoy. Erica and Jackson are sarcastic and snooty and can dish it out as well as they take it. Stiles can see himself actually becoming friends with them in any other situation than this particular one. The mysterious Danny has yet to make a physical appearance but is always on time with the emails Scott and him exchange that contain the daily report and daily schedule.
And last, but not least: Isaac. Stiles’ first opinion of the man was correct; he sure is easy to mess with and Stiles is a sucker for messing with him. The driver is the perfect target for two reasons. One, the only face-to-face they have are for less than two hours per day and, two, the time that he does have with him isn’t in work or home environment, unlike the others taking up six hours of both his home life and his office life. That’s not mentioning Isaac’s short temper, as Stiles soon discovers through some research.
With anyone that Stiles meets in his life, he utilizes his google and research skills in order to dig up information—not blackmail, if people ask—about the person. It takes a lot more effort with Isaac than it does for the others but, in the end, it pays off. To his great luck, Stiles stumbles upon the man’s unsealed juvie records.
He’s not going to bring up the whole deadbeat dad thing. Stiles might be a dick, but he’s not that big of a dick. Everything else in the records, though? Like the fights and stuff? That’s fair game to him. As with any game, you’ve got to know when to strike and Stiles has that down to a T.
It’s a normal Wednesday morning, only a couple of days after the whole bodyguard thing started. As always, Stiles is in the backseat behind Isaac while Erica drinks her coffee next to the driver, going their usual route to the office building.
Then, unlike normal, Isaac mutters something under his breath. “Damned kids need to get to school.”
At the sound, Stiles looks up in time to see two teenagers fighting on the sidewalk and two more were filming it on their cell phones. Not bothering to hide his smirk, he says, “Are you sure you should be saying that?”
Erica freezes completely. Even her uncapped thermos of coffee stills in mid-air between her lap and her face.
Isaac’s shoulders tense and his eyes flicker to Stiles’ in the rearview mirror before settling back to the road in front of them. “That was a long time ago.”
Coming out of her stupor, Erica snaps her head to her coworker and whispers, “Isaac,” almost like a warning.
“No point in hiding it now,” Stiles condescendingly drawls out, returning to his cell phone, “I already know all about it.” Then, he remains silent for the rest of the ride and so do the other two, much to his disappointment.
*
Stiles shows no signs of slowing down his torments as the day passes on by, lashing out at Isaac as well as every member of the team from Alpha Security. It only escalates further when he receives an email about a high-dollar client backing out of a deal. His normal method of letting off steam—masturbating until he can’t feel his legs—is currently off the table because he’s constantly being watched. Hell, he’s so frustrated that sometimes he forgets that he has an unknown manic trying to kill him.
It reaches a breaking point in the evening.
Derek’s on Stiles’ couch and scowls at the CEO for a solid minute before asking, “What crawled up your ass and died?”
For a second, Stiles thinks about lying or telling him to shut the fuck up but he’s way, way too pent up to yell anything except, “I haven’t been able to get laid or even jerk off because you guys are always here!”
Shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, Derek says, “You’ve been a dick because you haven’t touched your dick?”
“Uh, yeah. Wouldn’t you be the same way?”
“I would jerk off in the shower, like a normal person.”
“Are you telling me that you wouldn’t hear me get off?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“Or,” Stiles flirtingly grins and leans in closer. “Do you want to hear me, Derek? Hmm?”
“Just go jerk off in the shower.”
“Fine,” Stiles snaps and stomps off to the master suite.
The door slams shut and he quickly strips and makes his way into the bathroom to start the shower. Once the water’s a nice temperature, he steps in and relaxes in the perfect pressure meeting his tense back. He reaches for his already hard cock and lets out a satisfied groan. As he lazily pumps it, he thinks back to the dumb bodyguard in his living room who can probably hear him right now.
On one hand, being this loud could make Derek and his team quit but on the other… He really, really wants to annoy the man. No one is immune to Stiles Stilinski. No one. And he’s about to prove it—by moaning Derek’s name.
Fuck it, he thinks, moaning louder when he twists his wrist just right over his cock’s pink head. “Derek,” he gasps out, high-pitched and needy, quickening his pace. The name feels good on his tongue and he can’t help it as he lets his mind wander.
The idea didn’t originally involve Stiles thinking about Derek while he moans his name; however, the images come into his mind easily. A memory of thick muscles and large hands flash before morphing into a made-up scenario of Derek using them to manhandle Stiles into different positions.
He cums easily soon enough after that. As he watches it swirl down the drain thanks to the warm water, he can’t help but grin, thinking about how he just found a new step in his daily routine.
*
Although Stiles has a new method of tormenting the bodyguards—well, one bodyguard in particular—it still isn’t enough. The problem is that he’s not getting the reaction he wants because the only thing Derek does is purposely not make eye contact when Stiles leaves the bathroom in a thin, white silk robe after moaning his name religiously during his showers.
So, Stiles ups the stakes. It’s Friday night and he has nowhere to be tomorrow; he can’t ask for better timing.
This evening, he doesn’t shut the door all of the way or even bother turning on the shower as background noise like he usually does. After stripping his pajamas into a pile, Stiles sits on the cold, marble counter with his legs up and spread wide. Then he grabs two items from next to him: a bottle of lube and a large, vibrating dildo.
Stiles leisurely pumps a squirt of the lube on three of his fingers, warming it up by massaging it around with his thumb. He teases his rim with them and sighs blissfully. Leaning back on the mirror, he presses two of them into himself, groaning at the painful pleasure. He rapidly works himself up to all three fingers. Once he’s satisfied, he takes them out, gasping loudly at the loss.
After quickly dosing his dildo in lube, he shoves it into his hole with a loud moan. He’s too out of it to notice that the moan was a name. Just as he turns on the toy’s vibrations and manages to start a rhythm with it, the door opens further, revealing Derek.
The bodyguard looks unimpressed but he never takes his dark eyes off of Stiles’ body. “What? You want attention? Fine. I’ll give you attention.” His deep tone alone has Stiles toes curling.
Stiles wants to deny it; instead, his hips shift, moving the vibrations right against his prostate and he lets out a long, warbling whine.
Stepping between Stiles’ opened knees, Derek asks, “What’s your safe word?”
“Huh?”
“Tell me your safe word and I’ll touch you,” Derek repeats himself and there’s no mistaking those words.
“Pinecone?” Stiles’ tone is questioning. What the hell is he planning on doing to him where a safe word is necessary? He quickly decides that it doesn’t matter as Derek comes impossibly closer.
“Good boy,” Derek whispers and—without warning—wraps a hand around Stiles’ painfully hard cock.
Gasping in shock, Stiles tries closing his legs together, only to have them spread open again with two well-placed elbows on the bend of both of his knees. His eyes snap up from where he’s staring at those large, veiny hands, up to Derek’s face. This is so, so close to the scenario he keeps imagining that he lets out a weak noise from his mouth; one that has nothing to do with the pressure on his cock or the buzzing in his ass.
“You’ve been in here chanting my name like a whore. Don’t be all shy now.”
The rare feeling of shame and embarrassment coats Stiles’ spine. He opens his mouth to slash out an insult with anger; however, a loud moan is ripped out of him instead as Derek teases his cock’s tip with the pad of his thumb while his other hand twists and shoves in the dildo deeper.
Derek chuckles—more full of malice than humor—as he says, “Wow. All I had to do to shut you up was this?”
“F-fuck yo-you,” Stiles stutters out through his quick pants, attempting to stare daggers at his guard through his half-lidded eyes.
“Always such a brat, even when I’m doing what you want,” Derek tuts. Then he smirks when he hits Stiles’ prostate head-on.
At least, Stiles thinks he smirks because his vision goes black as his eyes roll back. Every last inch of his body is shaking as his orgasm comes rushing closer and closer. This is vastly better than anything he has ever done to himself. While clenching his eyes, to make sure he doesn’t see Derek’s face of victory, he moans out, “Close.”
“Then cum for me, desperate little thing.”
With a throaty moan, Stiles has no choice but to obey, making a mess all over himself and Derek’s hand. As Stiles is coming down from his orgasm, he’s pretty sure he’s floating in a different universe.
The peace only lasts a moment before Derek starts up again, throwing Stiles to the tight line of over-sensitivity. He whimpers, chest heaving, and legs shaking. The reactions don’t stop Derek; in fact, he increases his efforts.
“Too—shit—too much!” Stiles yells as his eyes snap back open.
“If it’s really too much then use your safe word,” Derek says, not sounding affected in the slightest.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Stiles really, really doesn’t want this to end. All he can do is moan at the delicious feeling. It doesn’t take long for him to notice that his second orgasm is rapidly approaching.
“Stop treating my team like shit and I’ll let you cum again. Deal?”
Stiles opens his mouth, about to say that he never takes one-sided deals when Derek squeezes his dick tighter and grinds the toy directly on his prostate. “Ah—Deal! Please Derek, dea—” He chokes on his words as his orgasm is given to him. It leaves his torso looking obscene.
Slowly and almost gently, Derek removes his hands and wipes them on the nearby hand towel. “Enjoy your shower, Stiles.” He’s gone before Stiles can think of anything to say back, the bathroom door closing behind him.
Stiles doesn’t even know if he could stand, let alone shower.
He’s so far out of it that he fails to realize that Derek uses his nickname instead of his title until later that night while he’s staring at the ceiling in his bedroom. The bed is large and cold and far too empty. As Stiles listens to Derek switch out with Boyd in the living room, he wishes he has more than a spare pillow to cuddle.
*
It’s Tuesday afternoon before Stiles sees Derek again, due to the police finding three more bombs sent to Stiles over the weekend. There’s not any warning for the man to show up. In one second, Jackson guards outside of the closed office door alone. Then, in the next second, Derek is inside and softly closing that same door behind him.
It happens so suddenly, Stiles doesn’t even have time to react from where he’s reviewing documents at his desk when Derek asks, “Did you miss me? Is that why you've been acting up, hmm?”
Stiles gets over his shock and nods quickly; anything to get Derek’s hands on him again.
“I’ve only been gone a few days, needy little thing.”
“I don’t care,” Stiles says, dropping the document he was reading down on top of the pile with the others. What’s happening in front of him is way more entertaining than work.
“You know…” Derek steps closer to the CEO. “You would get what you want more often if you weren’t such a damn brat all of the time.”
“You’re gonna ‘reward me for good behavior’ or something?” Stiles lets out a small scoff at the idea. This isn’t the first time someone thought they could use that on him.
“Yes, actually,” Derek says as places his palms on the wooden surface of the desk and he leans forward to get right into Stiles’ space.
“Like what?” Stiles asks, wanting to skip to the part where his hot guard fucks him.
“Depends. What do you want?”
“Hmm,” Stiles pretends like he’s thinking about it and controls his lips from stretching into a grin. “I think I want you to man up and fuck me.”
“I can do that. If you promise me something.”
“No,” Stiles whines. “No promises. No deals. I can see you’re hard, Derek. Just fuck me already.”
Derek raises an eyebrow. “I can leave you here as well. Think your next words very carefully, Stiles.”
The condescending smile makes Stiles’ dick twitch. Curse him and his kinky mind. With blood rushing elsewhere, he makes a decision—one he might regret. “What’s the promise?”
“Be nice to my team.”
“I have—”
“No,” Derek cuts him off. “You haven’t been tormenting them. But you’re still not being nice.”
“Fine. I promise or whatever.”
Derek doesn’t look impressed.
It causes Stiles to mentally fold into himself. Silence falls over them and it seems like Derek is determined to not be the one that breaks it. Stiles pouts as he struggles to keep eye contact with Derek. “I promise,” he says quietly but it still bounces around the tension-filled room. “Happy now?”
“Yes,” Derek remarks with a slight smile before it drops again. “But you just said that you were going to be nice and that didn’t sound very nice to me.”
“Well, I thought that the promise was to be nice to your team, not you.” The response makes one of Derek’s eyebrows twitch and his jaw flex and holy fuck Stiles realizes he’s in deep shit. “Wait I didn’t mean—”
His apology is cut off by Derek lowly saying, “Strip. Now.”
“I’m sor—”
“I said now, Stiles,” Derek growls like a predator. “I’m not gonna repeat myself again.”
For some reason, just the thought of Derek abandoning their deal makes Stiles’ stomach plummet. He has no time to think about what that means as he leaps up to quickly follow the order, taking off each suit layer and laying it on his desk chair, silently thanking past him for making his office soundproof. When he’s done, he looks up to see Derek still standing on the other side of the desk.
Derek catches his eyes and curls a finger towards him. “Come here and stand in front of me.”
Nerves tingling in excitement, Stiles does what he’s told. He stands silently in front of the other man for a moment, waiting for something, anything; however, Derek does nothing but appraise him like he was looking at marbled meat at a butcher’s shop. It makes Stiles’ nerves go from tingling to feeling like they’re on fire.
“Bend over the desk,” Derek finally says. “You’re getting punished.”
It’ll be a spanking then, Stiles thinks, bending over the loose-leaf paper section of his desk. He spreads his legs and braces his upper body to prepare. Then he waits and waits and—
“...Are you wearing a butt plug?”
Stiles gasps and his eyes go wide. He totally forgot about putting it inside of himself this morning in order to get off in the comfort of his locked, soundproof office during his break. “I, uh, I am.”
“Why’s that?” Derek asks, gently tugging on the toy, making Stiles groan. “Were you hoping I would show back up today to bury my dick in your already prepped ass?”
“No,” Stiles drawls sarcastically, “Here I was hoping Jackson would be the one to fuck me on my own desk.”
“Why are you—” SMACK. SMACK. “—such a brat?” SMACK.
Pain blooms immediately, zig-zagging across the plump flesh of his ass. Stiles is so stunned he can’t respond, too busy choking on his spit. It bubbles over his pouty bottom lip when he wails as another spank hits him.
“I asked you a question,” Derek mockingly says as he massages the now tender skin.
Stiles sucks in a breath through clenched teeth. “I’m sorry.” Another, harder, spank causes Stiles to start sobbing; tears fall down his cheeks and damp the reports that are under his face.
“Answer me.”
“Wanted you to touch me again,” Stiles says, sniffling and trembling.
“I should’ve known you were a bratty little whore from the first time you opened your mouth.”
“I’m not—” He’s cut off by a yelp when another well-placed hand rains down on him.
Derek chuckles, all soft and mean, the sound making Stiles’ erection twitch before leaking more precum from where it’s stuck between the cool furniture and Stiles’ warm stomach. “Hmm? What was that?”
“Nothing,” Stiles manages to get out in between wet pants. “It was nothing.”
“You know,” Derek says conversationally, as if Stiles isn’t struggling to stop shaking and crying, “only good boys get what they want, so be a good boy and tell me what you are.”
What’s left of Stiles’ resolve shatters into nothingness. “I’m a whore. I’m a bratty little whore. Derek please.” His begging breaks off into a helpless whine as Derek suddenly tugs the plug out of him with a wet squelch, the leftover lube dripping down his inner thighs.
It gets clunked somewhere next to him and then there’s a tell-tale sound of a zipper as Derek says, “There you go. See what happens when you’re a good boy for me?”
There’s a hot, blunt force teasing around Stiles’ rim. Derek’s cock is right there and he could only whimper in response. It’s his reward. He’s being good and that means he’s getting a reward. He tries his best to remain still now that he’s done shaking and crying—wanting the reward he earned so badly that he can think of nothing other than pleasing his dom.
Without a word, Derek slowly starts sinking into that hot, slick heat. The cock is thicker than the toy it’s replacing and makes the stretch almost painful. That does nothing to wane the almost overwhelming pleasure it brings Stiles, his eyes already rolling back although Derek is barely a quarter of the way inside. He can only hold on as Derek continues to steadily press forward.
Eventually, Derek’s hips come flush against Stiles’ sensitive ass cheeks. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, Derek. Please, Derek, please,” Stiles babbles.
Derek shushes him and rubs his large hands around the back in front of him in soothing motions. “Relax baby boy,” he kisses in between Stiles’ shoulders. “And enjoy your reward.” He doesn’t start out fast as Stiles once expected; instead, he rocks in and out at a slow, torturous pace that makes Stiles’ toes curl.
“Faster… Please…”
“And give a spoiled brat what he wants? Nah, I’m good,” Derek chuckles darkly. “You’ll take what I give you.” Then he continues at the pace until Stiles is gasping and moaning at every little movement. It’s a blissful type of torture.
It takes Stiles an embarrassingly short amount of time for his orgasm to start to build. He doesn’t think Derek will notice until the bodyguard says, “I can tell you’re close by the way you’re milking my cock. Wanna cum, hmm?”
“I want to—” Stiles gasps wildly. “I wanna—”
Derek bends down to where his lips are flush against the curve of Stiles’ ear. “Use your words,” he growls, the new angle making every single one of his thrusts slam into Stiles’ prostate.
“Earn it,” Stiles all but sobs at the full-out abuse of the bundle of nerves deep inside of him. “I wanna earn it.”
That must be the right thing to say because his bodyguard lets out a string of curses as his thrusting hips falter a little bit. “You’ve more than earned it.”
“No, I—”
“You’ve been very good for me,” Derek says with a snarling grunt. “So do it. Cum, Stiles.”
Before Stiles can even second guess the command, his body obeys. It makes a show of it too; spine arching and eyes rolling back as the documents beneath him become covered in his seed. The orgasm hits him so hard that he goes deaf, unsure if he even makes a single sound. His hearing returns to normal just in time to hear Derek’s own orgasm—a deep groan as he buries his large cock to the hilt.
After a few moments of both of them panting, Derek pulls out and steps back. Stiles has no time to mourn the loss or worry about cleaning up because his butt plug is pressed into him with one sure push. Derek’s cum is trapped inside of him. It’s almost like a mark of ownership and the thought alone makes Stiles shiver. Then, he’s released as Derek moves away.
The CEO puts his suit back on as he painfully realizes that sex with anyone besides Derek is absolutely ruined for him. No one has dared to treat him like that; not even other so-called ‘brat tamers.’
As if Derek has no clue how he’s affecting Stiles, he goes straight to business, saying, “Due to the event that happened a few days ago, there’s a new schedule.”
“Al-alright.”
“Jackson and I will share both the noon to six P.M. and the six P.M. to midnight shifts while Erica and Boyd share the midnight to six A.M. and the six A.M. to noon shifts. Of course, Isaac and Danny will have their usual times and duties.”
Stiles can only nod as he half listens to what his bodyguard is saying.
*
Mere hours later, Stiles plus the two assigned bodyguards and one driver are heading to his apartment. Stiles is about to snap at Isaac. Before he can, he sees Derek out of the corner of his eye and turns back to the emails on his laptop. His groin heats up in arousal, clenching on his butt play as he imagines all sorts of rewards he might get by being good. There’s a brief moment where Stiles wonders how Derek has tamed him already; it’s followed by another moment where Stiles considers if he should start being a brat again, just to prove a point. He glances up once more to perhaps put that idea to use.
However, that thought flies out the window as Derek makes eye contact with him and winks. Winks. Thankfully, Stiles is sitting so he doesn’t swoon, but it’s a near thing. He looks away as he feels his face heat up and his heart starts pounding. What’s wrong with him? Since when did he act like a schoolboy with a crush?
Stiles huffs, puffing out his cheeks as he starts his typing again. Work seems like the best distraction from all of those questions. It proves to be the case and he’s lost in his drafting for a while.
“Hey,” Derek says as they get closer to Stiles’ apartment. “What’re your plans for dinner?”
The sudden noise scares Stiles, making him flinch but he doesn’t take his eyes off of his work. Surely Derek is talking to either Isaac or Jackson and not him.
“Mr. Stilinski?”
“Oh,” Stiles blinks away his shock. “I think I have leftovers somewhere in my fridge. Probably those.”
“I could cook for you,” Derek says like it’s the natural thing to say in this situation.
Not all of the blinking in the world can save Stiles from this shock. “Sure,” he says with a half-shrug, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. He closes his laptop and puts it away in favor of taking out his phone to go into the grocery delivery app. “What did you have in mind?”
Jackson cuts in then with a statement about how Derek’s lasagna is to die for and claims that he also is going to get into this deal.
In the past, Stiles would have reacted rather poorly to Jackson inserting himself like that; however, he doesn’t. All he does is add the ingredients he is missing from his kitchen into the cart and pay for it after confirming the haul with Derek.
That’s how Stiles ends up ending the best Italian food of his life while sitting next to Jackson and Derek—so close that their knees are almost touching. And it’s… nice. There are no arguments, no bitching, no off-hand remarks. Derek smiles at Stiles and he realizes that the other man has bunny teeth. That’s not the worst part either. That happens after dinner.
While Jackson is dutifully doing the dishes, Derek takes the time to lean over next to Stiles’ ear and whisper, “You’ve been so nice this evening. I knew you could be a good boy for me.” Then he settles back into his seat like he didn’t just cause Stiles’ horny meter to go from ten to a hundred within two sentences.
Shit. He has it bad. The CEO of Sparks Engineering, Mieczysław ‘Stiles’ Stilinski, is developing feelings.
*
A detective that’s assigned to the case tells Stiles that local security cameras from multiple stores recorded a suspicious man buying all of the bomb ingredients over the past few weeks. Stiles looks through at the pictures that are provided and he easily recognizes the man.
It's his chemistry professor from his college days. The man’s name is Professor Harris and he used to claim that Stiles is only successful due to the chemical formula Harris created. Of course, it’s a lie and isn’t true in the slightest. Stiles just didn’t think that the man hated him enough to try to murder him; however, he can’t deny the truth when it’s right in front of his own two eyes.
There’s also another truth right in front of his eyes. When the detective tells him that the surveillance was submitted through an anonymous source, Derek pointedly looks away from the conversation and the tip of his ears turns pink. Stiles easily puts two and two together: Derek left for all of those days to do some under-the-counter detecting for himself. Now it’s Stiles' turn to blush; his bodyguard really does care about him.
It’s not long afterward that the suspect is caught. Then the whole fiasco is over with and Stiles' life returns to normal. Well, almost normal; a certain someone decides to stick around for longer.
Derek Hale, Stiles’ dom and now boyfriend, slides into the CEO’s office as if he owns it before locking the door behind him. “On my way in, Scott told me that you haven’t yelled at anyone for over a week.”
They meet halfway across the room and share a soft kiss, much softer than what Stiles is about to experience.
The CEO pulls back slightly, saying, “Is it really that much of a surprise?”
“Not at all,” Derek says with that trademark feral grin of his. “Does my good boy want a reward?”
“Please,” Stiles whispers into the hot air between their lips.
“Please, huh?” Derek chuckles, his eyes twinkling in amusement. “You must really want it.”
“I need it.”
“I know you do, baby boy. Tell me what you want as your reward.”
Stiles bites his bottom lip as he tries to come up with a random answer. In the end, he tells the truth—he’s rarely bratty nowadays. “I want you to give me whatever you think I deserve.”
“You always know just what to say to rile me up,” Derek says, voice deepening to a borderline growl. He steps back and Stiles has to resist the urge to chase after him. “Get on your knees.”
There’s no hesitation when Stiles drops to his knees, looking up at his boyfriend with large, doe-like eyes. He really wants to look down at the tent that’s surely in Derek’s pants but he knows better and continues maintaining eye contact.
“I’m going to facefuck you now,” Derek says, undoing his belt, button, and fly. “Is that alright with you?”
“Yeah,” Stiles says through the saliva pooling on his tongue. “It’s so much more than alright.”
And it is because, not only is he now tamed, he’s also completely and utterly in love with the man that tamed him.