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The club is always crowded on weekends, when the local gay folk gather here, trying to lose some steam while dancing and drinking, or just searching for other ways to relax, like simply heading to the toilets for a quickie.
Stiles is working, though. He’s tending the bar, trying not to get yelled at for misplacing the drinks or for being a klutz by breaking glasses left and right. Tonight he’s doing alright - no glasses broken, no angry customers, no drunkards trying to invite him outside for some fun.
It’s not as if Stiles refuses because he’s straight. He’s not, unless you call candy canes straight. Stiles is bisexual, okay, maybe more gay than bi, but that’s because he realized that he tends to fall for bossy girls. The last one he dated, Lydia, told him she didn’t want a lap dog but a man (yeah, that didn’t go well with his self-esteem), so she dumped his ass for Jackson, the king of all douches. Stiles is over it anyway.
Now Stiles’ eyes linger on men. He came to terms with his kinks and preferences a long time ago, and can admit without shame that he likes men who can manhandle him. He likes a bit older, more mature men, artfully buff, with strong arms and broad shoulders, with a bit of scruff on their face to make his spine tingle, and a smirk so devilish to make his pants tight. Yeah, just like this man, standing before him, smirking— oh.
“Derek!” Stiles startles and drops down to Earth, letting his dreams dissipate in the dim lights. “What can I get for you?”
He tries not to check the man out, but fails miserably. Stiles developed a teeny-tiny crush on him the first day he saw Derek. Stiles knows, wincing internally, the crush has expanded to the size of Texas (and keeps growing), and he is balls deep in trouble.
“The usual,” Derek answers, still smirking. Stiles pours a glass of Jack Daniels and slides it over to him. Derek takes the glass and sips a bit before speaking again “I still can’t believe you’re not a minor.”
Stiles feels his cheeks heat up and recalls the first time they conversed Derek had accused him of being underage. Stiles admits that he’s baby-faced but he’s legal enough to drink. He only started working here to earn some extra cash for daily expenses. College left him broke and barely scraping by, and he didn’t want to ask his dad for help.
“Do I need to show you my ID again?” Stiles quips dryly, wishing to be left alone, or he might combust with how nervous he feels just by talking with Derek.
“Who knows, it might have been a fake.”
“Har-har, you’re so funny, aren’t you?” Stiles glares at Derek, or at least tries to.
“Very,” Derek replies seriously and breaks into another grin. “I was wondering, why you never dance here?” Stiles looks at the cubicles with half naked dancers in them and swallows hard, shaking his head. “Not really my scene. Besides, I’m a shitty dancer.”
“With a body like yours? I doubt that.” Stiles tries to cover his embarrassment with a strangled laugh, not used to compliments. Thankfully, Derek leaves soon after with a wave and a smile over his shoulder, making Stiles’ insides fill with warmth. He sighs and starts wiping the counter, thinking about the Psychology paper he’ll need to write for tomorrow.
—-
It’s a pretty quiet night at the club and Stiles is doing inventory, taking notes and counting the liquor bottles still in stock. He chews on the pen and doesn’t pay attention to anything other than the numbers he’s writing down. There’s a sudden cough and Stiles lifts his head up, sees Derek standing before him.
“Uh, h-hey,” Stiles stammers awkwardly, quickly closing the notebook and putting it back in the drawer under the counter.
“Hi,” Derek greets him and quirks an eyebrow at him in question. “Am I disturbing you?”
“Nah, it’s okay. I can finish this later,” Stiles shakes his head and turns to take a glass. He pours Jack Daniels as always and slides it over to Derek.
“Thanks,” Derek accepts the drink and holds the glass in his hand without drinking.
Stiles busies himself by grabbing an empty glass to clean, though they are already spotless. He sighs and ponders how to break the silence that has fallen between them, but he soon leaves Derek with his drink, when more customers come and beckon him over. A few moments later Stiles glances back over his shoulder and notices Derek is watching him, with a predatory look in his eyes. The blood rushes to his cheeks and he rubs a hand on the back of his head, fluffing his hair into an unruly mess.
When he finally heads back over to Derek, Stiles notices he has already finished his drink, and asks if he wants a refill. Derek only nods and Stiles turns to take a new bottle out of the shelf. He hears Derek humming appreciatively behind him and he chances a look back at him and chokes on air when he realizes Derek is checking out his ass. Stiles uncorks the bottle and pours another glass for Derek, while trying to calm his rapidly beating heart.
“So, how about that private dance—”
“No,” Stiles interrupts fast. He forgot how many times they had this conversation already. Even if Stiles wants there to be something between them, he doesn’t want just a physical connection. It never ends well, and without a doubt Stiles would be the one to get hurt.
Derek huffs a breathy laugh. “What if I gave you a hundred bucks?”
Stiles knows Derek said it jokingly, but it still hurts and he considers pouring the whole bottle on Derek’s head. He slams the glass in front of him. “I said no.”
Derek looks apologetic and a bit shocked, but before he can say anything, Stiles tells him to leave. Derek obliges and turns away after muttering a brief sorry. Stiles rakes his fingers through his hair and hates himself for ever losing his cool.
—-
“No,” Stiles continues shaking his head. “Erica, no. No way in hell, over my dead body.”
“Stiles,” sternly chides Erica, the owner of the club and his boss. “You have to. We don’t have anyone else to cover for Danny. This birthday party is for one of the regulars. He’s also my friend.” Stiles stares at her horrified, her stance menacing with her hands on the hips.
“Why Danny? Why couldn’t I cover for Greenberg instead? I don’t want to be a laughing stock.”
“Greenberg’s a laughing stock, I should fire him already,” Erica says, throwing her blonde locks over her shoulder. She points a finger at him “Suck it up, Stilinski, and deal with it. You’ve watched the dancers many times, just close your eyes and let your body do the rest. You’ll do fine.”
After saying her piece, Erica turns on her heels (which could kill, if they were thrown at you) and goes away, leaving Stiles gaping like a fish out of the water. He would refuse, if he weren’t afraid of Erica biting his balls off. She’s one scary woman.
—-
It’s been a few days and Stiles hasn’t seen Derek around. He wanted to apologize for snapping at him, talk to him to make things how they used to be. Stiles blamed himself many times for not making a joke out of it that night. He shouldn’t have given in to his emotions. He should have known better.
The birthday party is going to start in less than an hour, the whole club is decorated with balloons and ‘Happy birthday’ banners. There’s a makeshift stage in the back of the dancing area, close to the doors to the employees’ changing room. A wired cubicle stands eerily in the middle of the stage, a silver pole inside it.
Stiles knows he’s the main attraction, the opening dance, but nothing helps him to calm down. He fears he will either throw up before or during the dance, or flat-out breaks his leg (literally). He just hopes everything will end soon, so he can go back to working behind the bar.
“Hey, loser!” Stiles turns around and sees Erica coming his way, waving something in her hand.
“Erica, isn’t there anyone else who could do this?” Stiles begs, biting on his nails.
Erica cuffs him on the head. “It’s boss to you, and no.” Stiles whines pitifully, dreading the time he has to go on the stage.
“Here,” Stiles looks down at the item Erica was carrying. She’s holding it out for him, so he takes it. It’s a mask, a tacky glittery mask. He scrunches his face in distaste.
“Put it on. No one will recognize you with it, so calm down.” He does as he’s told, tying it behind his head. Once he’s done, Erica pushes him forward and wishes him luck. Stiles smiles weakly back at her, takes a deep breath and climbs on the stage.
The cubicle isn’t large from the inside and feels a bit claustrophobic. Stiles takes several more deep breaths and makes his way towards the pole. The lights are still dimmed, so no one has noticed he’s inside the cubicle yet. He looks around trying to find the rich snob, who’s having a birthday party in a club, but without any luck.
When the lights are turned on, pointed exclusively on him, he once more tries to scan the crowd, hoping and fearing to see Derek among the throng of people. Stiles finds him, standing close to Erica. What makes Stiles freeze in place momentarily is the ridiculous birthday hat on his head. Derek is the rich snob, celebrating his birthday tonight. Derek is the one Stiles will be dancing for. He feels his chest constricting and he averts his gaze hurriedly, hoping Derek didn’t recognize him.
The music starts and Stiles takes a huge breath, calming himself down for the umpteenth time. He closes his eyes and lets the music sweep over him, gets swallowed in it. Stiles starts swaying his hips slowly, getting warmed up. Once he wraps his fingers around the cold pole, it feels like something shuts his brain off and turns on the auto-pilot. Stiles dances like he never did before - bold, daring, a total fucking tease. He rocks his hips, spins around the pole, and goes up and down it, sliding his sweatpants slightly down, showing a bit of his round ass.
Stiles hears the wolf whistles and shouts coming from the crowd, so he takes his shirt off, runs his hands down his torso. He continues gyrating to the beat, completely lost in the music and his thoughts, and imagines it’s only him and Derek in the club. He imagines he’s not actually dancing but straddling Derek and sitting in his lap, rolling his hips to create some friction. He imagines Derek’s hands ghosting over his bare chest, as he keeps touching himself.
Stiles’ fantasies are vivid, he belatedly realizes he’s half hard already. He knows the song is going to end in a few moments, so as a final piece he faces the crowd, arches his back on the pole, and slides his hand down his chest until finally he reaches his crotch, squeezing it lightly. Stiles licks his lips and throws his head back as the music ends. He hears clapping and whistling coming from the audience and counts the whole thing as a success.
He’s too scared to look up and meet Derek’s eyes, though, doesn’t want to see his reaction. Suddenly, he gets pissed off at such cowardly thoughts and he defiantly lifts his head and takes his mask off, revealing his face. He watches as Derek’s eyes widen in surprise and he takes a halting step forward, but Stiles just turns away and strides off backstage, grabbing his shirt on his way out.
Stiles keeps worrying his lip between his teeth and freaking out for what an idiot he is. He pushed Derek away for not wanting to be only intimate with him, and now he goes and almost starts jerking off to the thoughts of Derek. He’s a hypocrite and really stupid. What was he thinking? Is he out of his mind? Why did he have to remove his mask? Now Derek knows it was him. How is he supposed to go back and tend the bar?
By the time Stiles is on the verge of slipping into a panic attack, Derek bursts through the door and reaches Stiles in a few quick strides. Stiles looks at Derek horrified, knowing it’s a moot point of thinking he could run away, and before he can say anything, Derek surges forward and kisses him. A desperate whiny noise escapes Stiles’ throat and it gets swallowed by Derek’s insistent lips. Stiles opens his mouth to let Derek in and sighs at the feel of their tongues joining together. Stiles revels in the feel of Derek’s warm soft lips against his, the hot tongue mapping out his mouth, the needy breathless moans shared between them. Immeasurable want starts filling his body and his legs threaten to buckle under him.
Stiles doesn’t remember wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck, or Derek sliding his hands all over his bare chest. His touch is scorching and makes Stiles shiver. When Derek breaks the kiss, he nuzzles at Stiles’ cheek, breathing him in. Stiles tightens his hands around Derek and peppers his skin with small kisses. Once he reaches Derek’s ear, Stiles whispers a happy birthday to him, and grins when he feels Derek shake with laughter.
Eventually they break their hold on each other and Derek lifts his eyes and looks at Stiles. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things that time, I know I must have insulted you—”
“It’s okay. Derek,” Stiles holds his gaze, trying to convey everything he feels right now, “it’s okay.” Stiles rests his forehead on Derek’s, not wanting to lose the contact between them. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. I just— I just like you too much and I didn’t know how to—”
Derek shuts him up by kissing him again and murmurs against Stiles’ lips that he should get dressed. Stiles grins and disentangles himself from Derek, putting his t-shirt on and grabbing his shoes. He watches as Derek scribbles a haphazard note to Erica, thanking her for a birthday party and his present, telling her not to wait for them.
Stiles flushes realizing the present is him, but before he can say anything, Derek grabs his hand and leads him out of the club through the back door. They catch a cab and Stiles can’t tamp down the growing smile on his face. He just squeezes Derek’s hand tighter and thinks he’s the happiest he’s ever been in his life.