Chapter Text
Stiles Stilinski is the long-suffering assistant of Derek Hale, editor extraordinaire. Also jackass extraordinaire. Stiles would like to emphasise that emphatically.
That’s the worst part about Mr Hale (he makes threatening eyebrows at Stiles if he calls him Derek); he makes Stiles act stupid. And Stiles went to Yale. He’s not stupid. He has, however, a track record of acting stupidly in front of gorgeous people; Lydia and Danny, back at home, for the larger part of high school. Lydia for the first couple of years until he got it in his head that she was unavailable, and he didn’t want to be that guy. He managed to persuade Danny to date him for senior year, and he became a stereotype and fell in love before graduation.
And then had his heart torn in two.
Stiles doesn’t really like to think about it.
Anyway, the point of the matter is, beautiful people make him wary. And or stupid.
He’s been painfully aware for the better part of five years just how attractive Derek is (he’s even scared to call him that in his head, he needs to sort out his priorities), since he started working for him after college, in New York, in the best Publishing Agency in town. Stiles is appreciative that Derek let a college graduate work for him, with no experience. Stiles is also appreciative of the way Derek's shirts stretch across his broad, broad chest, always a little too tight; the tuft of chest hair that always pokes through. The stupid way he never wears ties or anything, just lets his shirts do the work, and his tight trousers that make him swagger, a little. Stiles wonders whether his balls can even breathe. His eyes are big and beautiful, and he’s got Zachary Quinto eyebrows; Stiles’ Kryptonite. To make matters worse, he’s got a tattoo on his back, and it’s beautiful, Stiles can admit that he’s wildly turned on by it whenever he sees it through Derek’s too-thin shirts that he never bothers to wear undershirts under. He just looks sinful.
So Stiles has two editions of Derek in his life; there’s the Derek he has to wake up at 6am for, because he makes him get their lattes, and he likes them steaming hot in his office by 6.30am. That’s when the crazy guy turns up to work. He stays until 10pm, and objectively, Stiles can admire the way he works, his excellent ethic, his crazy ass ambition that must do sit ups while he sleeps. Unfortunately, he also usually makes Stiles stay until then, so Stiles can’t be as appreciative as you’d think. Also, Stiles has to decipher his Disney princess handwriting when he’s edited a manuscript to within an inch of its life, with his irritatingly accurate and insightful criticism.
The guy’s the reason why Stiles hasn’t been home in three years, after all, has overworked him to the point of insanity, but Stiles can’t give up now. Besides, he’s helping him to pay off his college bills without his dad’s help. So that Derek, Stiles is not a fan of. He’s a jackass. A relentless, overbearing jackass, that Stiles sometimes likes to call Satan. He’s about seventy per cent certain that if Derek knew that he called him Satan, due to the Mark Pellegrino level of hotness and the frankly evil way he treats the interns, Stiles would be skinned. Heh. He’s kind of like Hannibal Lecter, in all honesty, all sharp teeth and evil, painfully attractive smirking.
Then there’s the Derek that stalks his masturbatory fantasies. Stiles prefers this one. He stalks towards Stiles, surprisingly naked for the office, and does Stiles roughly on the desk. Several times. In several different positions. There’s also the part where he takes both of them in his large, calloused hands (Stiles has done an extensive study on those hands) and brings them off, until Stiles comes on those rock solid abs. Again and again. Ahem.
It’s when these two overlap that Stiles starts having trouble.
So Derek wasn’t born in the USA.
Technically, he’s a Canadian citizen, because he was born there and lived there for the first seven years of his life.
Stiles never wanted to know this bit of trivia. He was satisfied with dreaming about Derek licking up the come on Stiles’ stomach, then proceeding to give him an imaginary, but nonetheless exceedingly brilliant blow job.
But then Derek had to go and get deported.
It isn’t Derek’s plan, in all honesty, it’s Stiles’; the Federal government won’t part married couples. Simple as that.
So when Derek suggests that they get fake-engaged, after Stiles has done hours worth of research on the topic and that’s all he can come up with, Stiles doesn’t hesitate. For undisclosed reasons. That have nothing to do with the sizeable bulge in Derek’s trousers, and the way his shoulders look when he leans towards Stiles on his desk, and makes the angry eyebrows at him.
Stiles likes to be Batman and save the day.
But this is not his day.